


before we can breathe easy

by belovedmuerto



Series: in the shadow of your heart [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Fluff, Gen, Hugs, M/M, So Much Softness, Softness, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, industrial size pharmaceutical grade softness, slow burn cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-27 02:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18294917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: No one touches Steve.Bucky sets out to do something about that.





	before we can breathe easy

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this all this month, and honestly every word of it has been utter self-indulgent joy. I hope you enjoy reading it even a quarter as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Also it damn near caught me up to where I'm supposed to be for GYWO, so. B O N U S.
> 
> Many thanks to wearing_tearing for your constant support and encouragement. <3

He can remember sitting on rooftops and in out of the way places, watching the Captain before he’d decided to come in. He’d watched him like a hawk while his brain slowly reset itself, and he figured out a little bit of how to be a person again, bits and pieces anyway. Even before he remembered that Steve had always been his touchstone, the Captain was one.

Even now, months and years and eons and epochs later, he still watches Steve like a hawk. (It hasn’t physically been all that long but some days it feels like geologic ages have passed.)

He had first noticed that nobody really touches Steve right at the start, and he’d found it perplexing even then. Steve seems to move in a bubble. When he’s out in the world, people move around him, defer to him; mostly they seem unaware of what they’re doing. Mostly he seems unaware of what people are doing, although he’s pretty sure that is a studied and purposeful unawareness on Steve’s part, like he’s been avoiding thinking about it for so long that he’s forced himself to be blind to it.

It’s long been a goal of Bucky’s: to do something about that.

But.

Well.

Circumstances made that very difficult for a very long time.

He is well aware that if Steve is touch-starved--and he most certainly is--than Bucky must be as well. Part of being a person is this pesky sense of self-awareness that is annoying at best.

All of this is going through his head while Steve stares at him. His eyebrows are somewhere near his hairline and still climbing.

‘Your face’ll get stuck that way’ he thinks, but he can’t quite make the words come out of his mouth. Words are difficult for him, sometimes.

OK, most of the time. Sometimes he just doesn’t _want_ to speak. He knows that this is a vast difference from Before, but no one except Steve remembers what he was like Before, and Steve doesn’t seem to care at all that he hardly talks these days, so he’s come to the conclusion that he doesn’t really care either.

The things Steve does care about: that Bucky is comfortable, that he feels safe, that he gets a full night’s rest more often than not, that he eats on a fairly regular schedule. Those are the things that Steve cares about.

Bucky also cares about Steve. That Steve is comfortable, that Steve feels safe, that he gets a full night’s rest as often as possible, that he remembers to eat regularly.

He cares that Steve doesn’t have anyone to hold him, and he has decided (he decided before he even turned himself in) that he will be that person for Steve. Eventually. Hopefully.

If only he could manage to be OK with touching anyone, or with anyone touching him.

It’s been an ongoing issue.

But this is progress. His hand is still on Steve’s arm, and Steve is staring at him like all of his best Christmases have just happened at once.

It’s a heady feeling. He thinks he might like it. 

But Steve is staring at him, and he realizes that he hasn’t asked if this is OK, and it’s possible that it’s not OK, for him to be touching Steve.

It steals his breath away, and he has to ask even as he is terrified of the answer. 

“Is--” and he can’t quite make the next word come out of his mouth.

Steve continues to stare, a bit expectant now.

“OK?” he asks. He looks at his hand on Steve’s arm, and Steve does the same.

Steve puts his own hand, gentle, over Bucky’s. “Yeah, Buck. It’s OK. Is this?”

Bucky stares, Steve’s hand over his, warmth seeping into him, dripping into his frozen veins and warming him in tiny increments.

But there’s only so long that he can handle that extra bit of contact, and as soon as he draws in a breath to try and ask, Steve lifts his hand, and Bucky lets the breath out, heavy and relieved, despite the distinct feeling of loss that comes with it. 

“Buck,” Steve says, his voice soft.

Slowly, Bucky pulls his hand away from Steve’s arm. His hand has been there so long he’s sort of sunk into Steve’s skin, and his own skin peels away slowly.

He immediately wishes he hadn’t let go, because even that tenuous connection between them is more than he’s had in a long time, and he’s fairly certain that it is more contact with another human than Steve has had in a long time, too.

More contact with another person in a way that isn’t violent, at least.

He thinks maybe they've both had enough of the violent kind for several lifetimes.

He needs to go sit down, or something. There are so many things going through his head, all at once, all together in a jumble, and he needs to be able to think, and he won’t be able to do that around Steve. He thinks he makes some sort of gesture but he doesn’t know, doesn’t care right now.

“Buck?” Steve calls after him.

He turns around, halfway to the stairs up to his room, and looks at Steve.

“It’s always OK. Just so you know.”

Bucky blinks a few times. “If it’s not?”

Steve smiles at him, obviously proud that he’d managed to ask that without any apparent difficulties. “If it’s not, I’ll tell you. And you can always do the same, OK?”

Bucky nods, after a moment, and goes up to his room.

He shuts the door and lays down on his bed, shutting his eyes. He won’t sleep though, not for a long time.

He remembers the feeling of Steve’s skin under his own, the warmth, the softness, the little hairs on his arm, the muscles shifting minutely under Bucky’s hand. He wants to treasure the memory, but he knows if he does that he’ll stop. He won’t be able to make himself touch Steve again, and he knows that he needs to do that.

For Steve.

For himself.

So he puts it out of his head as much as he can, and somewhere before dawn, he drifts off to sleep, the muffled sounds of the city outside the house lulling him sort of like they used to, eons ago.

\----

The next few days pass quietly. Steve has business in the city, and is gone for several hours a day over the course of the rest of the week. Bucky stays behind; he doesn’t like going into the city unless he can’t avoid it. He usually only goes for his required quarterly check-ups on his arm.

He dreads those. They always send him careening back into dark places, with nothing and no one to cling to. 

He has one scheduled for a few weeks from now.

Maybe it’ll be different this time. Maybe if he works really hard he’ll be able to hug Steve by then. That might help, perhaps a little bit.

While Steve is gone during the day, he cooks, spending the afternoon coming up with enough food for both of them to eat their fill. It fills a lot of time, and he enjoys it. Sometimes he bakes as well. Steve has something of a sweet tooth, and if he’s honest with himself he does too. 

Sometimes he even allows himself to admit it, if only to himself. 

He still has trouble allowing himself things, has trouble believing that he deserves the things he wants, no matter how many time Steve assures himself that he does. 

It’s much easier when he tells himself it’s for Steve, and he’s just indulging because Steve always asks him to share.

So he cooks, and he bakes ridiculous desserts that he finds recipes for on the internet, and Steve seems enormously pleased to come home every day to them, every time. No matter how often it happens (and there are weeks where it happens every day), Steve is always delighted to find that Bucky had cooked, had baked.

He always seems to enjoy all of the food that Bucky makes. It is gratifying.

Plus there is the added bonus that feeding Steve ensures that Steve eats on a pretty regular schedule. Even better is that feeding Steve and giving in when Steve insists that he gets his own plate ensure that he eats on a fairly regular schedule as well.

That’s one thing on his list that is more or less taken care of, on a regular enough basis that even Bucky can’t deny that it’s a success.

And on his bad days, Seamless and Grubhub and any number of other food delivery apps exist. The possibilities of a delivery person being HYDRA or from some other nefarious organization are low. If it’s a bad day, he’s going to worry anyway, but he’s getting better at that than he used to be. And at least he’s worrying on a full stomach. It takes some of the sting out of it.

Hey, he actually uses food delivery apps. That’s a big step for him. 

This week has been good, though. So he cooks. He makes several loaves of bread, and he makes a stew that is nothing at all like what either of their mothers used to make, but is good. If he’s being totally honest, it’s probably better than anything either of their mothers used to make. He has a whole world of vegetables and spices and good quality meat to use. Even if he was trying to recreate his mother’s stew--which he’s not--he wouldn’t be able to. 

Things are just too different now.

In so many ways.

He makes a cake for dessert, lemon with a raspberry jam between the layers, and a delicate buttercream icing. He considers trying to decorate it, but he’s never been an artist. Not like Steve. So he settles for leaving little swirls in the icing with the knife, and sets it out for Steve to see when he gets home.

Steve’s been gone every day this week, and for much longer today than usual. Bucky checks his phone, but there’s no message from Steve.

They have a code set up, so Steve can let him know quickly if he’s being called in on Avengers business, and let him know at least approximately where he’s going. He can’t always say exactly where, but he can give Bucky enough of an idea that Bucky can get out the laptop that no one official knows he has (and that he’s not really supposed to have) and keep track of where they’re going and what’s going on.

He likes to keep tabs on Steve.

Shortly after he puts his phone back down, and goes to check on the stew again, and take a peek at the loaves of bread on their final rise on top of the fridge, he hears the phone beep. When he checks it, he sees that he’s got the all clear, headed home message from Steve that he’d been expecting a while ago.

He snaps a picture of the covered loaves of bread, and sends it to Steve. Steve sends back a drooling emoji, and Bucky smiles and puts his phone down.

\----

Steve falls on dinner like a starving man when he gets home. Thankfully Bucky had timed the bread correctly so that it’s just coming out of the oven as Steve pulls up outside on his bike. Bucky hears nothing but appreciative noises for the next thirty minutes, before Steve finally pushes his plate away, wiping up the last bits of stew with his fifth slice of still-warm bread.

Bucky blinks at him, and Steve blushes. He still blushes at the drop of a hat. Bucky likes to see him blush, even though sometimes it dredges up memories in a weird way, where the Steve he grew up is briefly transposed over the Steve he is now, and Bucky has to shake his head to dispel the memory or risk getting lost in it. Steve wipes his hand across his face and smiles a little, still blushing all pretty and delectable. “That was real good, Buck. Thanks.”

Bucky nods, allows himself a little pleased smile, and gets up to go get the cake.

Steve moans when he brings it in, eyes going big and eager. “Oh God you made cake too?! Is it my birthday?”

Steve knows damn well it’s not his birthday, so Bucky just gives him a look and puts the cake down on the table. He goes back for plates and forks and a knife to cut it with, and when he goes back to the table he could swear Steve is practically drooling.

It’s nice to be appreciated for skills that don’t end in death and destruction.

He doesn’t want to do that anymore.

And tonight’s not the night for that. Tonight is a night for being pleased that he is able to take care of Steve, feed him things that taste good. Tonight is a night to be grateful that they have the resources to afford good food and a nice roof over their heads (well, Steve took care of the roof. Bucky does most of the shopping [grocery delivery is probably a sin but he’s more than OK with this particular indulgence] and Steve never asks him where he gets the money for it. He also doesn’t seem to notice that the money definitely isn’t coming out of his bank account). (Bucky also does most of their banking, because he’s far better with numbers and budgets than Steve is, and also this way Steve doesn’t quite realize how many of Hydra’s accounts Bucky has drained over the past few years.)

But that’s neither here nor there.

Steve eats two big slices of the cake, moaning his way through every bite. Frankly it’s obscene, but Bucky is gratified. It’s nice to feel appreciated. He savors his own piece, enjoying every bite while he watches Steve inhale his own.

As Steve is finishing off his second slice, he looks across the table at Bucky. “Got anything else planned for tonight?”

Bucky shrugs, and takes another bite of his own cake. “Not much,” he manages.

Steve smiles, as he still usually does when Bucky talks. It’s nice that Steve is proud of him; he likes that. He just wishes he was able to speak enough that Steve doesn’t have to be proud of him just for uttering a couple of words.

“We could watch a movie?”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder, this time. That’s fine with him.

“You can knit?” 

Bucky smiles at him. Of course he’s going to knit. He usually tries to knit in the evenings, whether he does it sitting on the couch by himself, or in his room if he can’t handle the openness of the living room, or in Steve’s company while Steve draws or watches TV or gets frustrated over a sudoku or crossword puzzle.

(The puzzle books are all Bucky’s, but he leaves them lying around because he knows that Steve secretly loves them.)

They clear up the dishes and get the kitchen cleaned up together. Bucky doesn’t like to leave a mess behind, and Steve won’t let him clean up on his own, so they’ve worked out a system between them that tends to work well enough most of the time to clean the kitchen in under twenty minutes.

Bucky goes upstairs to his room and gathers his current knitting project, and heads back down to the living room. Steve is already on the couch with his sketchbook next to him, flipping through their streaming services. He’s sitting in the middle of the couch, which is different than usual, and he sneaks a glance out of the corners of his eyes at Bucky as he comes into the room with his project bag and takes up his spot in one corner of the couch.

It puts Steve far closer to him than they normally sit, and he can see that Steve is waiting and tense with it. He’s waiting to see what Bucky will do. To see if Bucky is OK with him being physically closer while they watch TV.

Bucky sits down in his spot like nothing is any different, and he can practically feel Steve’s sigh of relief.

“Whatcha wanna watch?” Steve asks, just as he does every time they sit down in front of their tv.

Bucky shrugs, just as he always does. But he also watches Steve flip until he sees something that seems interesting, and that Steve will enjoy, too. When he does, he makes a little noise.

“Good choice!” Steve declares, like always. 

It’s something of a habit for them. A routine. Almost a ritual. Steve settles in a bit and watches the movie while Bucky gets out his knitting and reads over the pattern a little bit before he starts knitting.

The sound of the needles hitting each other is soothing to him. He likes it. He likes knitting in general, and he’s glad that he’d seen that person knitting in a coffee shop that one time, before he’d more or less stopped going out in public except when necessary.

It’s soothing, and Bucky has found that he savors things that are soothing, now. Things like knitting, and cooking and baking, and sometimes sitting at the foot of Steve’s bed and listening to him breathe in his sleep. They’re the things that quiet his thoughts, that let him feel a stillness that isn’t tied to death.

He curls up in his corner with the ball of yarn next to him, knitting and half paying attention to the movie. Steve keeps throwing him little looks from the corner of his eyes, like he’s still expecting Bucky to object to him being closer on the couch than usual.

Bucky doesn’t mind. He’s more OK with it than he was expecting, actually. But he doesn’t think he has enough words to tell Steve that. Or he doesn’t have the right words.

What he does, however, is take the next step in his plan. He’d twisted around so he’s sitting sideways on the couch shortly after the movie had started. This isn’t unusual for him, it tends to be more comfortable when he’s knitting, to be sitting like this. But this way he can also do this:

He can slide his legs out, an inch at a time, until his toes encounter Steve’s thigh. 

For a bare breath of a moment, Steve tenses. He glances over at Bucky, quickly like he’s afraid he’ll spook him, and he shifts a little, and Bucky slides his toes under Steve’s thigh.

And he leaves them there.

Steve spends the next ten minutes fighting back a dopey ecstatic grin, and Bucky concentrates very hard on his knitting so as not to grin just as dopily.

Steve eventually calms down, and the flush on his cheeks settles. He slides down a little on the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table. Bucky tsks but doesn't actually say anything. 

When he looks up from his knitting, Steve is looking at him.

He makes an inquisitive expression, and Steve says “can i?” even as he’s slowly moving his hand towards Bucky’s ankle.

Bucky swallows and nods just a little.

Steve puts his hand on his ankle.

They both look at it, for a moment, five fingers against a black sock.

Bucky takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He looks at Steve and nods again.

Steve turns his attention back to the movie and leaves his hand there.

Bucky doesn’t go back to his knitting for a long time.

\----

His plan to both give Steve the affection he clearly so desperately needs and also get through his own aversion to touch is going well, but not quite well enough as he’d hoped. Bucky is both pushing himself and trying not to push himself too hard. He doesn’t want giving Steve the physical affection that he both deserves and needs to be something he has to force himself to do.

Steve doesn’t deserve that. He’s pretty sure Steve would sense it, if that’s what he was doing. And he can’t handle the sadness that would bring to Steve.

But he’s also not acclimating to it as quickly or as well as he’d hoped.

The toes under the thigh thing had gone well. Steve’s reciprocation had gone remarkably well, too. 

But it’s not going as fast as he’d thought it would.

So another appointment in the city comes up before he’s comfortable with more than a brief hand on Steve’s arm or shoulder once or so a day.

Which sucks, because he may have scrambled egg brains and a lot of amnesia still, but he’s self-aware enough to know that he could really do with a hug after one of these appointments.

Stark sends a car for him, and always sends it early enough that he can do a thorough pre-check to clear it for bugs and bombs and all manner of other things that he can’t really name but knows he’s looking for before he gets in it and heads across the bridge into Manhattan for the check up.

Steve is the one left behind this time, even though he offers to go with Bucky. He always offers to go with Bucky, and so far Bucky has politely declined. Usually after one of these appointments, he comes home and goes to his room and quietly falls apart for a while before he slowly emerges and the whole rigamarole of being human starts up again.

He doesn’t regress as much now as he did the first few times, but it’s still not great. He’ll be completely non-verbal for days. 

He’s spent the whole last week stockpiling pre-cooked meals in the fridge and freezer so that he won’t have to cook for either of them for a couple days. And he’d bought that tea that Bruce had told him about that seems to help, as well as some chamomile. 

He returns home with an intense headache and a burning desire to wrap himself in many blankets and shut out the world for a while.

He really needs a hug, and he is equally certain he’s not ready for that. Not yet.

But he thinks he can possibly do something… close to that. Maybe. If Steve will let him.

When he comes into the apartment, he can hear Steve pacing. He’s not waiting in the entry, which is good. He’d had to have a very fraught conversation with Steve about waiting for him to get home by the door like that, and how it was probably a very good way to get a knife to the gut.

But Steve had taken it in the spirit of the request instead of as a threat--Bucky is quite sure it had sounded like a threat, because he hadn’t known how to speak without it sounding threatening at that point--and he doesn’t wait in the entry anymore. 

He’s probably in the kitchen. Hopefully he hasn’t been attempting to cook; he’s not a bad cook, not really, but he is a supremely uninspired cook. He just doesn’t enjoy it enough to be much good at it. He’s better at baking, but even that isn’t his favorite thing to do, so as far as Bucky’s able to tell Steve is more than happy to leave the cooking to him. Which is fine, because Bucky does enjoy it.

He doesn't call out a hello, he just shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it up, drops his keys in the bowl on the table by the door.

Normal things. People things.

The sound of the keys hitting ceramic is like a spike through his head. All he wants to do is get a cool towel and lay down with it over his eyes.

All he really wants is a hug, dammit.

Steve is waiting in the living room by the time he gets there, wringing his hands together in distress. His expression is stricken, pained, and he’s not even the one who spent the afternoon getting poked and prodded.

“Hey Buck,” he says when he sees Bucky. He doesn’t make any sudden movements. He doesn’t even really stop wringing his hands together, and Bucky can understand the desire he can see naked on Steve’s face. The desire to hold, to comfort.

He aches with it, and he can’t give that to Steve. Can’t allow him to hold, to comfort. Not without reacting with extreme prejudice.

He hates this.

Bucky takes a deep breath, and it releases shaky from his lungs. He crosses the room so he’s standing in front of Steve, pretty close.

“Buck?” Steve asks.

Bucky purses his lips, and then manages, “Stay?”

Steve smiles, a little tinged with sadness. His eyes are tense. “Yeah, of course Buck. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky purses his lips again, because that’s not quite right. He puts his hand on Steve’s chest, feels his sharp intake of breath, and steps forward again. Steve stays put, and Bucky is able to shuffle close enough to hook his chin over Steve’s shoulder.

They’re more or less flush against each other and. This is almost enough. 

He can feel Steve move to lift his arms more than see them, and he anticipates the motion of it enough to reach out and grab, capturing Steve’s wrist. Steve stops moving.

“No,” Bucky says. He puts the arm he’s got in hand back at Steve’s side.

“Can I--?” Steve asks.

“No.”

“Okay.” 

Steve goes still, and slowly relaxes against Bucky, not leaning on him, but letting himself be leaned against. 

Bucky breathes slowly and deeply, listening to Steve’s pulse pound in his neck, feeling their breath fall into tandem. This is good. It’s almost enough, and it’s going to be too much very soon. But it helps. He can take a deep breath now, and the headache has backed off a little bit.

“Buck?” Steve asks after a few minutes. His voice is soft, nearly a whisper, like he’s afraid of disturbing something if he speaks too loud.

Bucky makes an inquisitive noise.

“Is this a hug?”

“Yes.”

“OK,” Steve says, still in that soft voice, accepting, awed. “OK, Buck.”

After a few moments, Steve speaks again, still in that same soft voice. “You remember when you touched my arm that first time?”

Bucky makes a noise, hopeful that Steve will take it as encouragement to go on.

“After you went to bed, I sat down on the couch in here and cried.”

Bucky twitches, and Steve makes a soothing noise, low in his throat. He doesn’t pull away from Steve like he wants to.

Steve keeps going. “It was good crying, Buck. I was so happy, and proud of you. It was the first time you touched me since--”

Bucky hums again, but doesn’t say, ‘Since I beat the shit outta you on the helicarrier, dragged you out of the Potomac, and then bolted.’

“I’m proud of you, Buck.”

Bucky briefly puts his hand on Steve’s waist, but that’s too much. Still, it’s enough to acknowledge what Steve had just said, and something like a way to let him know that it means a lot to him, too.

He wishes they could stay like that forever, but it gets to be too much all too suddenly, and Bucky jerks back, away from Steve.

Steve smiles at him, and doesn’t comment. Bucky blinks at him a few times, and retreats to the couch.

“Do you want me to heat something up?” Steve asks. He is careful not to come too close, which Bucky appreciates more than he can say.

Bucky shakes his head, curls himself into as tight a ball as he can, in his corner of the couch. “Not yet,” he says.

“OK. Let me know when you’re ready.” 

Steve sits down at not quite the other end of the couch, but also not as close as he’s been daring to sit lately, and picks up a book from the coffee table. He starts reading. Or at least he makes it look like he’s reading. Bucky is staring pretty hard, and doesn’t see him turn any pages for a very long time.

Inch by hard fought inch, he relaxes enough to where he can rearrange himself on the couch so he’ll be comfortable and likely won’t strain anything just sitting and breathing.

He’s sort of drifting in and out of awareness when he hears Steve sniff. He looks over and can see the tear tracks on Steve’s face, the way his eyes are red and glistening.

Steve sniffs again, and makes a face at himself.

“Steve,” he manages to say.

Steve looks over at him, smiles a tremulous smile and swipes at his eyes, dropping the book next to him on the couch. 

“I’m OK, Buck,” he says.

Bucky snorts.

“I am. I will be. It’s happy crying, I promise.”

Bucky looks closely at him for a few minutes, and then pats the couch next to him, beckoning Steve closer.

Steve gets up and moves with an air of extreme gratefulness. He wipes at his eyes again, laughing at himself a little bit. “I’m very emotional these days,” he jokes. “Or else it’s super dusty in here.”

‘You’re very emotional always,’ Bucky thinks. ‘You’re just not hiding it as much.’ But he shifts again so he can stick his toes under Steve’s thigh, and puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder for a few brief moments.

“Thanks, Buck.” 

Bucky nods, though he doesn’t think Steve has anything to be thankful for, not yet. He can’t even manage to give him a real hug yet.

He’ll get there. 

Steve picks his book back up, and actually reads for a little while, until his stomach starts rumbling. When he looks over at Bucky, he nods, and Steve gets up to go heat up some dinner for both of them.

\----

The little things that he’s been doing, the light little touches that should be common and every day and unthought of and unconscious, are a little bit easier after the not-hug. He sets himself a goal of one a day and even manages it five days out of seven.

Life continues on for them. Bucky remains all but a shut-in, mostly by choice, and Steve exists around him. He’s more or less on leave from the Avengers, devoted to Bucky and his recovery. Bucky appreciates it more than he can say, but bristles at it, too. 

He’s not worth all of this devotion from Steve, he sometimes thinks. 

He tells himself that it doesn’t matter if he thinks he deserves it or not, Steve’s devotion to him is Steve’s decision, and he remembers enough to know that Steve will remain stubbornly devoted until his dying breath.

Steve’s always been like that. 

It’s one of the things he loves about Steve.

He supposes he is just as stubborn in his own devotion. After all, he’s decided to recover from his extreme aversion to touch by touching Steve as much as he possibly can. He’s going to learn to be OK with physical affection by foisting as much of it on Steve as he can manage, and then just keep going until Steve calls uncle.

Bucky hopes it takes the rest of his life, but he tries not to think that far ahead too often. When he does he starts to wonder just how long his and Steve’s lives will be, and that way lies madness. 

He doesn’t want madness anymore, he’s had enough of that already.

He doesn’t want to rest on just the fleeting touches, because as much warmth as they offer him and, he’s pretty sure, Steve too, he knows they’re not enough. But he’s not sure that he can do the not-hug thing again anytime soon, because it was a special circumstance, and it was A Lot.

He’s not ready for that, but he needs to push himself as much as he can. And he needs to give Steve more than just a hand on his shoulder or his arm, there and gone again before either of them can really enjoy it.

It takes him a couple days of thinking, but he does eventually come up with something that he thinks will work. It’ll be contact he can maintain for more than a moment, and it will give Steve some physical affection, and it won’t make him crazy.

He hopes.

Which is of course when Avengers business comes up, and Steve goes rushing off to the city and the Tower.

Bucky digs out his phone and waits for the text letting him know what’s going on. He gets it after a couple hours, Steve letting him know he’s in the air with his team, but that he’s going to be running ops from the mobile command center, not actually venturing into the fray.

The last coded message makes no sense when Bucky reads it, something about a giant squid?

He resolutely goes up to his room and wraps himself in his comforter and does not turn on the news until after he’s gotten the all clear text from Steve late that night.

Once he does, he’s glad he waited. He turns off the tv pretty quickly and goes to the kitchen, muttering to himself (probably in Russian, he’s so agitated he can’t even tell) about giant fucking squids.

It’s so early in the morning as to technically still be last night, but he spends the rest of the morning in the kitchen, alternating between cooking and baking. When he comes out of the fugue of food prep, he feels much better and he definitely needs to order groceries. 

So he goes back upstairs and does that, glances briefly at the news again before shutting that particular tab in disgust, and takes a nap while he waits for the ‘coming home’ text from Steve. 

Tonight will be a good night to implement his next affection offensive.

\----

Steve is clearly ragged with exhaustion by the time he gets home. Bucky may have only taken a two hour nap in the past 36 hours, but he’d be surprised if Steve got any sleep at all. He drags himself into the house with the heavy steps that Bucky only hears when Steve is especially rundown and in denial about it.

Luckily for Steve, Bucky already has a huge meal laid out for him in the kitchen, and he’s feeling OK enough to call out, “In here!” when he hears Steve shut the front door.

Steve clomps into the kitchen a moment later, and his eyes widen at the feast arrayed on the table. 

Bucky points at Steve’s chair and says, “Sit.”

Steve smiles a little, having noticed that Bucky just said two sentences in a row, and takes his seat. Bucky puts a plate in front of him and starts doling out food. He watches until Steve’s eyes are practically bugging out of his head in distress at the amount of food on his plate, and only then does he stop adding to it.

He piles food on his own plate, because he hasn’t eaten much since Steve left the other day, and sits down to eat. Steve is already in the process of clearing his plate, knowing better than the stand on ceremony with Bucky. He knows it only earns him Winter Soldier glares when he tries to wait for Bucky to eat.

Steve slows down a bit about two thirds of the way through his food, but he doesn’t stop, and he finishes everything before leaning back with a satisfied groan.

“Thanks, Buck, I needed that.”

Bucky nods, still picking at the remnants of his own not as big meal. Now that Steve is here in front of him, obviously safe and sound and still smelling faintly of disinfectant, he can feel his muscle groups letting go into relaxation one by one, and he is overcome with exhaustion all of a sudden.

He can see the moment when the exhaustion hits Steve as well. His eyes start to droop, and his head starts to fall.

“Shower,” Bucky orders. “Bed.”

Steve lifts his head, blinking at him, bleary. “I’m fine, Buck.”

“Shower,” he repeats. “Bed. Now.”

Steve blinks a few more times, and then nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Definitely right,” he says. 

Steve chuckles. “OK, I’m going to shower and go to bed.” But he doesn’t get up, and Bucky can guess that he needs a little affection. He gets up and goes around the table to stand close enough to put his arm sort of around Steve’s shoulders. Steve leans into him, just a little, but it seems like it’s enough, because Steve sighs and Bucky can feel him relax.

“You’re OK,” Bucky says, and Steve nods against his side.

“I’m OK,” he agrees.

“You’re home now,” Bucky adds.

“I’m home now.” 

They stay like that for another minute or two, and Bucky pats Steve’s shoulder and takes a step back.

“Time for bed.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He stands up slowly, clearly exhausted, and shuffles off. A few minutes later, Bucky hears the shower turn on, and he smiles to himself and finishes with the dishes. He sets up the coffee pot, and goes upstairs to get ready for bed.

\----

Steve has to go back into the city the next day, to finish debriefing after the thing with the lake and the giant goddamn squid. He drags his feet about it, lingering over breakfast after his usual run, which he started much later than usual. He’d actually slept in for once; Bucky had been shocked to wake up before him.

Every time Bucky thinks about what Steve is debriefing over, he gets angry. He’s not sure why he’s angry. Maybe it’s because he remembers how excited he would’ve been by something like this when he was young and innocent. Maybe it’s because he knows that he can’t go with Steve on these missions. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to go along with Steve on any missions.

He’s not sure he’ll ever want to. He’s had enough of blood and death in his life. He may not deserve it, not by a long shot, but maybe he just wants some peace and quiet for a while. To be not swept up in war after war. To be not used by whoever passes for a power, to be not a weapon.

But that’s neither here nor there. Steve is most likely gone for the majority of the day, and he’ll be hungry when he gets home. 

Bucky doesn’t actually need to cook anything, he’d definitely done enough cooking for just about the rest of the week while Steve was gone on mission, but he surveys what he’s got in the kitchen and decides to do some baking. 

It’s as much to keep himself from dwelling on Steve’s continued absences over this mission and relieve the stress it makes him feel as it is to actually have something tasty to eat at the end of the day.

Baking doesn’t take up the whole day much as he’d like it to, and he has to fill the leftover hours until Steve will get home with something. He gets on the treadmill for a while, and uses the rest of the equipment in the home gym Steve had set up for them. Then he showers and makes sure his hair looks nice--he thinks it would be nice to be able to have Steve’s hands in his hair. At some point. In the future. Possibly the distant future.

Maybe Steve would want to braid his hair. He thinks he would like that. He would look good with braided hair. His hair is getting very long, maybe he should try to trim the ends.

Not today.

He makes do for now with a low ponytail, and settles on the couch with his comforter spread over himself and a book.

Steve doesn’t get home til almost eight o’clock which is. Unacceptable. 

Bucky is waiting for him, in that studied way he has developed where he tries to look like he’s not waiting at all, even though they both know the truth.

Steve is a good man, he doesn’t bring it up. He just smiles to himself. Bucky gives him a look and sets a plate in front of him.

He groans in appreciation and tucks in.

“Did you eat already?” he asks after a while, around a mouthful of food.

Bucky makes a face because: rude. But he also nods.

“You don’t have to watch me eat,” Steve tells him. “I can clean up after.”

Bucky thinks about that for a few moments, and then he nods again. “Actually clean up,” he says.

Steve grins at him because he’s a little shit. “Of course, Buck. I got it, no problem.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at him, but he goes back to the living room and his book. He will almost definitely have to come along behind Steve and clean up again, but he’ll let it go for now. Maybe he’ll short sheet his bed in a few days to get back at him.

It strikes him after a moment, that he remembers how to short sheet a bed. And that it’s… harmless. A prank. It’ll make Steve squawk and it will make Steve laugh, so he will definitely have to do it.

He wraps the comforter around his shoulders and reads a few pages, listening with half an ear to the sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen, ostensibly cleaning up after his meal. He comes in with two slices of the custard tart that Bucky had made on plates, with forks. 

“This looks amazing, Buck,” he says with reverence, sitting down in the middle of the couch. Close to Bucky, but not too close.

Bucky immediately sticks out one foot and slides his toes under Steve’s thigh. Steve smiles the same soft, affectionate smile that he always smiles when Bucky makes some tiny little effort to touch him--it would be sad if it weren’t so heartbreaking.

Bucky needs to get better.

For both of them.

He reaches out to accept the plate that Steve offers him, and lets their fingers brush together. Steve nearly drops the plate. He blushes furiously, and concentrates on his tart for a few minutes.

Bucky smirks to himself. If that was enough to make Steve blush, what he’s got planned next may make him combust with happiness.

They finish their slices of tart, and Steve puts both of their plates on the coffee table. He grabs the remote and turns on the tv. Bucky picks up his book and goes back to reading for a little while. He’s mentally preparing for his next offensive. He thinks he’s ready, he thinks he’ll be OK, but he still needs to prepare himself for it.

“I know I should do something more productive than just watching tv,” Steve observies. “But I don’t wanna.”

“Melt your brain,” Bucky murmurs.

“Yeah, it’ll turn it to mush for sure,” Steve agrees. He shrugs, and keeps flipping through the channels, settling eventually on How The Universe Works. They both enjoy that one. 

Bucky puts his book down after a few minutes, even though he knows he’s already seen this episode. He adjusts so that he’s sitting properly on the couch, and ignores the tiny little noise that Steve makes, seemingly unable to stop himself, and makes sure that his comforter is wrapped securely around himself.

He takes one final deep breath, and tilts until he meets resistance. The resistance is Steve. He can feel the bulk of him, and his warmth starts seeping through the comforter and into Bucky’s veins within just a couple of moments, 

Steve makes another little noise, but Bucky can’t see him, wrapped up as he is. 

“OK?” he asks.

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve responds. He sounds choked up. 

Bucky feels Steve shift a bit, and the weight of his arm goes around one of the lumps of Bucky; it’s kind of his shoulders, kind of his head. 

But it’s OK.

“Is this OK?” Steve whispers.

Surprisingly enough, it is.

“Yes,” Bucky whispers back. He still can’t see Steve, which is probably best for both of them. He can hear Steve’s sniffles, and knows that if he looked at him right now, he would probably cry, or freak out, or have to go hide in his room for a few days. 

But he can lean against Steve, and let Steve half hug him, and he’s OK. 

Steve settles a little deeper into the couch, and Bucky slides down a little bit and leans more heavily on him. Steve lets out a watery chuckle, and puts his feet on the coffee table.

Bucky makes a tsking noise but doesn’t make him put his feet back on the floor. He leans, and he listens to Steve’s sniffles, and he watches the tv.

Steve’s sniffles settle after a while, and he laughs a little bit again, and he holds Bucky loosely about the shoulders, and he watches tv too.

\----

A few days later, Bucky thinks that maybe it was a turning point, letting Steve put his arm around him like that. Everything is just a little bit easier.

Oh, not everything. Life is still cosmically fucked, he still can’t quite manage to actually want to leave the house beyond going downstairs to pick up the mail, and he can’t quite abide the thought of Steve touching him without the barrier of at least one comforter between them, but.

It’s progress.

He tries not to fuck it up.

Things are changing, and all he has to do is keep up, keep from freaking out, and keep Steve at his side as much as possible.

Easier said than done, on all counts.

But Steve starts helping him out, in little ways. He doesn’t start cooking, which is definitely for the best, because he is still not a great cook with the exception of breakfast foods. But he helps out more with the dishes--rather, Bucky lets him help more with the dishes when he asks if he can, which he does every day. They have their routine for cleaning up the kitchen after meals, but Bucky will readily admit he doesn’t usually let Steve do a whole lot. It’s worked out because Steve hasn’t pushed, but now he’s pushing a little, and Bucky’s letting him push, and letting him do more. He knows that Steve needs to feel useful, but so does Bucky. And Bucky’s the one who’s home more often, since he barely leaves. Keeping house makes him feel useful, and sharing the load a little bit, it turns out, makes Steve feel useful too. 

Bucky keeps finding the house cleaned when and where he’s least expecting it, and he never actually sees Steve cleaning. If he weren’t so impressed with how sneaky he’s being about it, he’d be kinda freaked out about it.

It’s not just that, though, although it takes him longer than it should to realize that Steve has noticed what he’s been doing, what he’s been working on, trying to improve his reaction to being touched.

He forgets how observant Steve is, when it comes down to it. He’s always seen everything, really seen and understood everything. It really shouldn’t be a surprise that Steve has noticed how hard he’s been trying with this. He sees everything, and he’s definitely seen this, but Bucky’s pretty sure he hasn’t drawn all of the right conclusions from it. At least, not yet.

He’s OK with that. He’s not going to disabuse Steve of whatever (possibly dumbass) notion he’s got going on in his head about Bucky’s continued work towards his own recovery, and towards Steve getting the physical affection he so desperately needs and deserves.

It’s enough that Steve makes things a little easier on him, anyway.

If he thinks about it too much, which he really tries not to do because he’s mostly OK with how things are at this particular moment in time, he starts to fall down the rabbit hole of what even is recovery, and where along the path to it is he, and where will he end up, and what does recovery and life even mean?

So he tries not to think about it too much. He’s vaguely aware that he could be more involved in the world, but he’s done that, and it had not gone well for him. Or the rest of the world. He has the vastness of the internet at his fingertips, if he wants it. He can make anything appear at his door within just a few days, and he has more than enough money to be able to afford whatever he wants, and whatever Steve wants when it comes down to it.

For a couple of mooks from the depression, they’ve both ended up with way more money than either of them knows what to do with.

So that’s one aspect of life that he remembers from childhood and Before that neither he nor Steve have to worry about in the present. He can do whatever he needs to do to take care of Steve and not worry about where their next meal is going to come from. Or where they’re going to get the money for Steve’s medicine (since he didn’t bring his conditions with him even to the war, let alone the future).

All that to say, Bucky’s pretty sure he’s doing _fine_ , for a certain value of the word.

Some days and weeks are less fine than others. He still has nightmares. He still doesn’t like going out in the world all that much. But he’s here, and he knows who he is (some weird amalgam of James Barnes and the Winter Soldier, he guesses, more or less), and Steve is here with him and still essentially himself. And he can take care of Steve, which is all he ever really wanted to do in life.

So things are good. And he’s learning to be OK with physical contact, physical affection again. And he’s giving Steve physical contact and physical affection while he’s at it.

On Friday, he makes himself walk to the bodega a few blocks away from their place and buy some sandwiches and a carton of milk. The owner behind the counter seems a little surprised to see him, but not wary of him per se, and he figures Steve probably talks about him a lot. He knows that Steve stops here a lot, on his way home from his treks into the city.

He’s in the city now, but it’s all business stuff and not actual avengering, for which Bucky is grateful. He doesn’t think he’d be able to be on his little jaunt if Steve was suited up and off somewhere saving whatever piece of the world needs saving on any given day.

He pulls his phone out of his sweatpants and takes a picture of the street as he walks home. He sends it to Steve, and then adds ‘I got you a sandwich’ by which he means he got each of them three as well as some pasta salad because it had looked really good, and a couple of black bottom cupcakes as a treat.

Steve’s response comes only a minute or so later, and it’s just a line of a bunch of exclamation marks in a row.

Bucky smiles to himself for almost the whole walk back home. When he gets there, he puts the milk and cupcakes in the fridge and the sandwiches on the counter to wait for Steve to get home, and he does some yoga and then settles on the couch with his most recent book.

It’s a good day, and he is grateful for it. He’s grateful for all of the good days he has, has been having, and he wants to revel in it while he can.

Maybe he’ll take a bath later.

Steve gets home late in the afternoon, and Bucky can tell from the way he calls out “I’m home, Buck!” as soon as he walks in the door that he’s tired and vaguely annoyed, but otherwise good (was it the subway? Or the work?).

He doesn’t get up off the couch, because he’s made a nice and cozy nest for himself in the last few hours, but he does call back, “Sandwiches in the kitchen!”

A moment later, Steve pokes his head in the living room, grinning from ear to eat. “You went to the bodega!”

“I did,” Bucky agrees. Like it’s not that big a deal. (It’s kind of a big deal, and his little nest has been his justly earned reward. Along with the cookies he made the other day that he’s been working his way through. Because he needs cookies on top of the cupcakes he bought.)

“The one a few blocks away?”

“Yep.”

“That’s awesome, Buck.” Steve is still grinning. He’s so proud it almost hurts to see it. It’s nearly blinding, shining out of him.

Bucky might blush a little, but he’s not going to admit to it. “Go get food, I can hear your stomach rumbling from here.”

Steve heads off to the kitchen, still grinning ear to ear.

“Holy shit how many sandwiches did you get?” he yells down the hall a moment later.

“You get half!” Bucky yells back.

Steve comes back with his half of the sandwiches Bucky had picked up a moment later, juggling the food with two beers and thankfully a sandwich for Bucky, too.

“Thanks,” Bucky says, accepting a beer and a sandwich. It’s kind of hilarious that Steve brought fully half of the sandwiches for himself, but only one for Bucky. On the other hand, he probably knows that Bucky doesn’t eat quite as much at a time as he does, at least not usually. Or else he’d seen the container of cookies that Bucky’s been working through all afternoon and guesses that Bucky doesn’t have much of any appetite. 

“Good day, huh?” Steve asks, after a time. He’s still working his way through an truly ridiculous number of sandwiches, and his mouth is definitely full of food. It’s only by dint of long years of experience with Steve’s lack of manners that Bucky even understands what he’s asking.

Bucky has already finished his own sandwich, and gone back to his cookies. There’s only a few left. He _should_ give them to Steve. Or he could just make more tomorrow. He’ll wait and see if Steve notices them before he decides.

But, “Yeah,” he agrees. Because Steve is right, he has had a good day. 

Steve makes a face. Clearly he’d expected Bucky to elaborate. But he hadn’t asked for elaboration. What did he expect? Bucky shrugs.

“What’d you do?” 

Bucky shrugs again. “Went for a walk. Bought sandwiches. Sent you that picture. Walked home. Thought about a bath later. Ate some cookies. Read my book.” He holds up the book in question.

“Any good?” 

Bucky blinks.

“The book, I mean.”

It processes, a moment later than it should’ve, and Bucky just nods and puts the book back down. 

“How was your day?” 

Steve shrugs and keeps inhaling food. “Was fine. Boring. Lots of paperwork still after that last thing with the squid.”

They both take a moment to shudder, though likely for different reasons.

 

“Wait, cookies?” Steve says, when he’s done shuddering.

Bucky gives him a look, like he hasn’t been sitting here next to Steve steadily working his way through the last few cookies. Grudgingly, he holds out the container, and Steve grabs it from him, shoving two cookies in his mouth at once.

“Punk,” Bucky says, relinquishing his hope of getting any more cookies. He’ll just have to make more tomorrow. At least there’s still that cupcake in the fridge.

Steve grins around the too much cookie in his mouth, chews and swallows, and shoves the last one in his face as well.

Bucky shakes his head and picks his book up again, pointedly opening it to the page he’s on. But he does stick his feet out from under his blanket nest enough to shove his toes under Steve’s thigh.

\----

Later, Bucky takes the bubble bath that he’s been thinking of all afternoon. The lather is thick and rich and smells like lavender. It’s almost overpowering, but he finds it soothing, too. 

He leans back in the tub, resting his head on the little blow up seashell pillow that he’d found on-line. It sticks to the porcelain so it stays in place. It’s ridiculous and he loves it. 

It’s the little things.

There’s a soft knock at the door, and he glances over at it. It’s not locked, so he shrugs and says, “Come in.”

It’s not like he doesn’t know who it is.

The door opens slowly, and Steve sticks his head in. He looks uncertain, like he doesn’t know if he’s welcome or not.

Bucky makes a gesture with his head, because it’s way too much effort to lift either arm to wave him in. Steve gets it though, because he comes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

He looks a little lost. Bucky tilts his head at him, inquisitive.

Steve shrugs and slouches across the room to sit down next to the bathtub. He looks at Bucky, and then shrugs again. 

Bucky gets it. He lifts his arm and drapes it over the side of the tub, dripping on Steve’s knees where they’re pulled up to his chest. Steve leans over until his head is resting on the lip of the tub and shuts his eyes.

Bucky lays his head back against his little pillow. The water is still hot around him, the lather still smells like lavender, but it’s different now. It’s a different kind of soothing, with Steve there next to the tub. He hums a little. The warmth of the bath seeps into his veins.

He opens his eyes to glance over at Steve when he feels the pressure of Steve’s fingers against his own. Steve’s head is still against the side of the bed, but he’s lifted his hand to slide his fingers through Bucky’s metal ones. It doesn’t feel the same as if he were twining his fingers with Bucky’s flesh hand, but it’s still nice. He hums a little again, and shuts his eyes.

He can practically feel Steve’s smile, the warmth of it against his skin, the gentle happiness of it.

“You OK, punk?” He mumbles, giving Steve’s fingers a little squeeze.

“Yeah,” Steve mumbles back. “Just tired.”

“Go to bed then, Stevie.”

“I will.”

Bucky snorts, but doesn’t do anything else. He’s got no plans to get out of the bath until the water stops warming him.

“How are you?” Steve asks, after a while.

Bucky smiles a little. “I’m good, Stevie.”

Steve sniffles.

Bucky opens his eyes, and lifts his head to look at Steve. “Are you crying?”

Steve shakes his head and looks at Bucky. He’s not crying, but his eyes are big and wet with unshed tears. He sniffles again.

“Stevie,” he says, cajoling. “Don’t cry.”

Steve sniffles again. 

Bucky goes so far as to sit up, sending the water and bubbles sloshing around a bit. He reaches out with his free hand and slides his fingers into Steve’s hair.

It’s still soft, like it was when he was young.

Steve sniffles again, but pushes his head into Bucky’s hand a little. “That’s the first time you’ve called me ‘Stevie’ in seventy years, Buck.”

_Ah, so that’s it._

He opens his mouth to say his name again, but what comes out is, “Sweetheart.”

Steve lets his eyes shut again, and leans into Bucky’s touch. Bucky squeezes his fingers, and leans against the side of the tub so he can keeps sliding his fingers through Steve’s hair, over and over again, until he realizes the water has cooled around him and his skin is all pruney, and he really needs to get out of the water or else things are going to go sideways real fast. 

Cold water is not a good idea for him.

“Stevie, sweetheart, I gotta get out of the bathtub now.”

Steve looks up at him, eyes still big, but not as filled with tears as they were. He swipes at them anyway, and stands with a little groan, obviously a little achey from sitting all curled up on the floor fo so long.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve says. “I’ll just--”

He disappears before Bucky can say that he doesn’t really care if Steve leaves or not. He shrugs and steps out of the bath, drying himself vigorously and letting his hair out of the bun he’d pulled it up in. He pulls on his bathrobe and goes down the hall to his room, where he pulls on his softest sweats, the most drapey and comfortable long sleeve shirt he owns, and the big comfy cardigan he favors. He’s going to change again soon enough into pajamas, but he doesn’t want to go looking for Steve in a bathrobe.

And well, he could honestly sleep in what he’s got on, it’s not like he hasn’t before. He likes pajamas now. He likes soft things, good sheets, his comfy sweater. 

Steve’s hair.

Bucky wanders down to the kitchen and gets a glass of water. His book is still in the living room, and he heads in there to get it, intending to find Steve and say good night, read for a while and then go to sleep.

Steve is in the living room and he’s. Maybe having a panic attack?

He’s on the couch hunched over with his hands clenched together behind his neck, his elbows on his knees, his chest heaving with each too fast breath. It almost sounds like he’s having an asthma attack, but Steve doesn’t have asthma attacks anymore. 

Bucky wishes he could hold him. He knows he can’t, though. It’s not for lack of wanting anymore.

He can go sit down next to him, though, closer than he ever sits.

“Steve,” he says, quiet.

Steve jerks a little, and sits up too fast. His face is sheet white and his eyes are wide and yes, panicked.

“Steve, can you breathe with me?” 

Steve shakes his head, and then nods. Bucky takes a deep breath, and Steve follows. He holds it, and Steve holds his breath. He releases the breath slowly, and Steve follows suit. They keep doing that for a few minutes, until some of the color starts to come back into Steve’s face, and some of the panic starts to drain from his eyes. 

“Keep breathing,” Bucky tells him. “Have some of this.” He hands Steve the glass of water, and Steve gulps it all down quickly. Bucky takes the glass back and sets it on the table. He can get another, in a while. 

They keep breathing for a while. Eventually, Steve looks over at him. He’s blushing fire engine red, embarrassed or worse, ashamed. 

“Buck--”

Bucky waits.

“Would you--?”

Steve leans over again, exposing his neck. He gestures at himself with one hand, and keeps his eyes on the floor.

Bucky gets it after a moment, and it strikes him just how much he loves Steve, how Steve has never asked him to do more than he can do. And this is Steve asking for as much as he thinks Bucky can handle.

Bucky decides he’s definitely doing the right thing then and there, working on getting better at physical affection for Steve (for himself). And here’s Steve asking for comfort.

He shifts so he can put his right hand on the back of Steve’s neck, and he squeezes a little, and they sit like that for a long time. 

\----

Steve looks hungover as hell the next morning when he shuffles into the kitchen. Bucky is already there. The coffee is still hot, and he’s got pancakes on the griddle, and bacon and eggs on the stove. He glances over at Steve, who didn’t even go on a run this morning, and points to the table. 

Steve slumps into the chair and puts his head in his hands. 

Bucky pours him a cup of coffee, adds cream and the little bit of sugar that Steve prefers, and puts it down next to his elbow.

“Coffee,” he says. “Breakfast soon.”

Steve nods a little, and takes a sip of coffee. “Thanks Buck.”

Bucky nods and goes back to the pancakes, which need to be turned, the eggs stirred, the bacon tended. 

“You OK?” he asks, after a few minutes of cooking. He doesn’t look over at Steve.

Steve grunts, but he answers after a time. “I didn’t sleep real well last night.”

Bucky nods, and keeps cooking. It doesn’t take him too long to finish up; he’s gotten quite good at the timing of it. He sets a plate heaped with food in front of Steve and says, “Eat.”

Steve starts eating without a word of protest. When Bucky sets the maple syrup and butter in front of him, he starts adding both to the pancakes. 

Bucky finishes putting together his own plate and sits down across from Steve to tuck in. 

“Are you doing anything?” Steve asks, around a mouth full of food. It’s not a very good look on him, and Bucky smiles.

“Eating, Stevie,” Bucky replies with something of a smirk.

Steve makes a face at him, no matter that he was asking for it. “I mean today, Buck. Are you doing anything today?”

Bucky shrugs, still smirking a little. He knew what Steve meant. “Nothing much planned. Why, you got anything going on?”

Steve shakes his head. “I should go for a jog, or I’ll be antsy all day. But otherwise, um. Nothing planned, really.”

He’s working up to something. 

“I will probably use the gym after breakfast,” Bucky agrees. He does most days, running for a while on the treadmill, lifting weights, using the rowing machine. 

“You could run with me?” Steve says. 

Bucky thinks about it. He could, maybe. It would be his second time leaving the house this week, but he thinks he could. 

“OK,” he agrees, a little to his own surprise, and definitely to Steve’s.

“Really?”

Bucky smirks again. “Better hurry up and eat before I change my mind, Stevie.”

Steve blinks at him for a moment, and then grins. “You will not.”

Bucky smiles. “I won’t.”

They run for miles, easily, through crowded streets and through parks, miles and miles and Bucky keeps up with Steve easily. He can feel Steve’s joy throughout the whole run, that Bucky keeps up with him, that he doesn’t have to hold back. 

They’re both almost winded when they return home. They go their separate ways upstairs, each to his own shower.

By the time Steve comes back downstairs, Bucky has already taken up perch in his preferred corner of the couch and has his book in hand. He’s brought other things to do, as he expects that Steve wants to spend the day close to him. He doesn’t blame him. The run had helped clear the fog from Steve’s eyes, but Bucky doesn’t think he’s feeling one hundred percent himself yet.

He’s proud of Steve, though. He’d taken a step of his own, last night, despite the panic attack. He’d actually more or less asked for what he needed from Bucky. 

So he’s proud. He’s been proud enough of himself lately, all this progress he’s been making. It’s good that rubbed off on Steve a little, and Steve’s making some progress of his own.

Bully for both of them. And he isn’t adverse to spending the afternoon curled up on the couch with his book and his Steve nearby, sketching or watching TV or doing some reading of his own. 

He doesn’t let Steve sit down right away when he comes into the living room. Bucky gets to his feet and picks up the second blanket he’d brought downstairs, and gestures at Steve to turn around.

“What’s up, Buck?” Steve asks.

Bucky takes the blanket and drapes it around Steve’s shoulders, the way he generally wears his own blanket when he curls up on the sofa. When he’s got it situated, he pats Steve on the back.

“Trust me on this,” he instructs, and takes up his spot again.

Steve looks at him for a moment, and then shrugs and sits next to him. Bucky sticks his toes under Steve’s thigh. Steve picks up the remote and turns the tv on. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

Bucky marks his place in his book. “Sure, Stevie. Sounds good.”

\----

They spend most of the afternoon watching various movies. Sometimes, Bucky turns back to his book and reads instead of paying attention to the movie, but mostly he watches. He notices that Steve sometimes picks up his sketchbook from the coffee table and doodles for a little while, but he mostly watches whatever movie they’re on as well.

They take a break around one in the afternoon for lunch, sandwiches and a salad that Bucky puts together quickly. Steve offers to help, but only once. After that he hangs back and just watches Bucky work. Bucky doesn’t mind being watched like this, not by Steve, anyway. And he can feel that Steve is feeling a little bit fragile today, and needs to be as close to Bucky as he can.

They eat in companionable silence, and then return to the living room and the sofa by unspoken agreement. 

Steve sits a little closer this time, and drapes his blanket over himself instead of wrapping up in it like he had this morning. 

Bucky wraps up as usual. He likes feeling wrapped up in his blanket. It makes him feel safe and secure, and it’s a considerably nicer feeling than what he had before he’d turned himself over to Steve.

(He knows that Steve is not his handler. Contrary to what certain people believe, he always knew that Steve was not his handler. He remembered Steve, and he’d broken enough of his programming before he came in that he, at least in theory, understood the difference between having a friend and having a handler.)

As the afternoon wears on into the evening, Steve starts to slouch over on the sofa. He probably thinks he’s being subtle about it, but he’s really not. He’s practically yawning and putting his arm around Bucky’s shoulders in a movie theater, he’s so far away from subtle.

But he doesn’t say anything, he just watches out of the corners of his eyes, as Steve slouches over so far that his head hits Bucky’s hip.

It can’t be overly comfortable, but once he makes it there, he starts shifting and pulls his legs up onto the sofa, shifts a little bit more and then settles. He holds himself a little stiffly for a few minutes, until it sinks into his thick skull that Bucky’s not going to pull away or ask him to move. Even once he starts to relax, it takes him a while to fully relax.

Bucky figures that he’s finally fully relaxed when Steve starts to snore gently.

Steve sleeps through most of the movie, snoring off and on. Bucky thinks about trying to get one of his hands out from under his blanket burrito nest so he can get his fingers into Steve’s hair again, but decides against it. It’s nice enough just to have Steve resting against him, without adding anything to it that might send him over the edge into freaking out.

The edge seems further and further away as he works on this, and that’s nice. He knows he’s not anywhere near the level of comfort with touching (Steve) that he had so effortlessly back in the Before, but it’s getting easier every day. It’s getting so he has to think about it less and less before he’s able to actually act on it, and it feels better and better the more he does it.

It’s like learning a new habit, but more fraught and also more fun.

Steve wakes up as the credits are rolling, sitting up slowly and looking a little frantic about it. “Buck, are you OK?” It comes out a little slurred with sleep, but his concern is edifying.

Bucky nods. “I’d have moved you if it wasn’t.”

Steve sighs in relief, and rubs his hands over his face. “OK, if you’re sure.”

Bucky nods again. “It was… good.”

“Yeah?” The hope in Steve’s voice is heartbreaking. Not for the first time, Bucky wishes he could give Steve a hug. A real hug. Full on full body contact, arms wrapped tight around him, hold him close and never let go. That kind of hug.

Soon, he hopes. It’s like a little flame he’s keeping alive inside, still flickering a little, but growing stronger day by day.

“Yeah, Stevie, it was real good,” he says. He’s blushing a little, but then so is Steve now.

“Good,” Steve murmurs.

Bucky stretches and sits up a little. The couch is a mess of blankets around them. It looks cozy and comfortable, though, and he finds he doesn’t really want to get up, even if it is about time they both eat. He’s been doing well keeping on schedule lately and he doesn’t want to let that slip.

Reluctant and a little hesitant, he stands up, stretching again, shedding blankets all around him like a cocoon. 

“You ready to eat?” he asks. 

Steve nods a little, clearly caught up in his thoughts. Bucky just watches him, cataloging the play of emotions across his face. It’s beautiful. 

After a few moments, Steve nods again. “Yeah,” he says, still distracted, “sounds good.”

Bucky watches him for a moment more, until Steve looks up and catches his eye. He smiles a little, and Steve smiles back. Only then does Bucky head off to the kitchen to figure out some dinner for the both of them.

——

Dinner is simple, because Bucky doesn’t want to spend much time on it, and they both gravitate back to the couch when it’s ready, sitting close together but not quite touching, eating in companionable quiet as seems to be usual lately.

The tv is still on but muted now, on whatever channel they’d left it on the last time they watched regular tv. Both of them sort of absently stare at it while they eat.

When they’re both finished, Steve jumps to his feet before Bucky gets a chance and grabs both plates.

Bucky rolls his eyes, but lets him. There is a slim chance that Steve will take the plates into the kitchen and do more than just dump them in the sink. Bucky listens closely, and smirks to himself when he hears Steve do exactly what he’d expected. 

He’s wiped his face free of expression by the time Steve comes back. He doesn’t ask if Steve put the dishes in the dishwasher or not. He doesn’t mind for one thing, and for another he can tease Steve about it later.

He can tease Steve about a lot of things. He feels light enough that he can tease Steve. He likes teasing Steve, he remembers that. It’s one of those things that has come back to him, more and more strongly the more comfortable he gets with touch.

Steve might cry, but it will be the happy crying, and that’s OK.

He’s ready to try something new. Hopefully Steve will be OK with it.

Oh, who is Bucky kidding? Of course Steve will be OK with it. Steve has yet to voice a single objection to any of Bucky’s affectionate overtures. All he’s done is revel in every last bit of it and occasionally cry with happiness.

Bucky suspects that the increase in affection and physical contact where before he’d had none might be affecting Steve more than he realizes, or at least more than he lets on. It’s certainly had a positive effect on Bucky, and he often feels more emotional as well.

This might drive him mad with happiness. One can only hope.

Bucky stands up and starts gathering up blankets (they seem to keep multiplying somehow, it’s great). Steve watches him, curious but not asking anything yet.

“Find something to watch,” Bucky instructs, sorting through the blankets and picking out the ones he wants to use. He needs a decent barrier, and he wants to be wrapped up and warm, or at least covered and warm. But he also wants not so many that he can’t hear Steve’s heartbeat or feel the warmth of him through them.

It’s a fine line. He needs enough so that he doesn’t freak out at the proximity to another person, but he also craves that closeness.

He has to ease into it.

Steve finally settles on… something, Bucky doesn’t know or care what. Looks like it might be the Science channel. Perfect, he can easily doze for a while to that. Maybe they both can, this time. 

“Lay down, get comfortable,” he tells Steve.

Steve obeys, shifting a little to put a throw pillow under his head once he’s prone on the couch, and looking expectantly at Bucky.

“What’s going on, Buck?” he asks. 

Bucky shrugs. “You good?”

Steve nods.

Bucky nods back, just once. He picks up the first blanket, and spreads it over Steve, tucking it in a little here and there. Steve watches him with raised eyebrows, but he doesn’t pry. Bucky goes through the other blankets until he finds a second one that he thinks will work well, and he spreads that one over Steve, too.

“OK?”

“I’m gonna get hot like this, Buck.”

‘You have no idea, pal,’ Bucky thinks. He surveys Steve for a moment, and then reaches out and flicks the blankets so they’re no longer covering Steve’s feet. 

“Better?”

“Sure,” Steve responds. He’s laughing, but not out loud. It’s in his eyes, making the corners of his lips twitch with it.

“Good.” Bucky sets about draping a blanket over his shoulders. He doesn’t think he’ll quite be able to manage to do this without elbowing or kneeing Steve someplace delicate if he tries to fully burrito himself, so a blanket cover will have to do the trick.

“Comfortable?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Steve replies.

“OK if I touch you?”

“Yes,” Steve replies. He’s smiling with his eyes again, waiting to see what Bucky will do.

Bucky straddles him. Steve’s eyes go wide.

“Get your brain out of the gutter, Rogers,” he mutters.

Steve snort-giggles. It curls him up a little bit, and Bucky waits him out, glaring a little bit because he can, sitting on his thighs. Finally, he calms down and settles back into the couch again.

Bucky wants to poke him, but he also wants to get started with this. He really hopes he can handle it for a while. He reaches behind himself and pulls a blanket over his legs. 

“Still good?” he asks. It’s good to check in, to make sure consent is not being withdrawn.

He’d read that on the internet. They’d been talking about sex, but he figures it works with any sort of touching. Or if it doesn’t, it should.

“Yep,” Steve says. He’s maybe cottoned on to what Bucky intends at this point. His eyes are sparkling. “You still good?”

“Yep.” Bucky reaches out and braces himself with his hands on either side of Steve, and he slowly lowers himself down until he’s laying on Steve. He has to take a moment and assess, and adjust himself a little bit so he’s more comfortable and his head is a little lower to where he can hear Steve’s heartbeat a little bit better.

“OK?” he asks. Just in case. It might not be. Sometime in the last thirty seconds, Steve may have changed his mind.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. 

Bucky lifts his head to look at Steve, but Steve is looking up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

Bucky puts his head back down, and listens to the way each breath hitches its way into and out of Steve’s lungs, the pounding of his heart. He watches the images of whatever it is that Steve had put on (it’s definitely the Science channel, he can see the logo in the corner of the tv, but he doesn’t know what show it is. It doesn’t matter, really), and gives Steve the time to get a hold of himself.

Steve gets himself under control fairly quickly this time. When Bucky chances another glance up at him, he’s grinning from ear to ear. It’s a huge, shit-eating grin, and Bucky can’t help but smile as well, turning his face into Steve’s chest for a moment to hide it.

Bucky snuggles a little bit closer, letting his legs settle between Steve’s, his arms on either side of him, and sighs. This is good. He thinks maybe he could sleep like this, on top of Steve, surrounded by the sounds of him: the gust of his breath, the beat of his heart.

After a few minutes of blissful affectionate physical contact, albeit with the blanket barrier blunting some of the sheer nearness of it, Bucky notices that Steve keeps lifting his hands, like he wants to put them around Bucky, and then dropping them back to his sides. Lift, drop. Lift, drop. Lift, drop.

Bucky lifts up his head to look at Steve. Steve seems to realize that he’s being watched and tries to look at Bucky back. The angle doesn’t really work, and Bucky laughs at the way Steve contorts himself to try and look down at him.

“You’ll get stuck that way,” he says.

Steve laughs too, at that, and gives up. He sighs and goes back to staring at the ceiling.

“It’s OK for you to ask,” Bucky tells him, because it is. He’s not a mind reader, and he’s doing his best to give Steve the physical affection he wants, needs, and deserves (that they both want, need, and deserve), but Steve can always ask for more or different or to reciprocate some way if he wants to.

In the end, they both win that way.

“Can I put my arms around you?” Steve blurts out. It comes out like he’s been trying to hold it in for ages, and honestly he’s probably been holding that in since the first time he’d seen Bucky after the helicarrier.

Bucky takes a moment to consider it. He thinks he might really like that, but he’s afraid it might be too much, and he doesn’t want to lose the closeness they’re currently enjoying.

Steve shifts a little, waiting as patiently as he can for Bucky to decide. He has never had much patience, and Bucky appreciates that he tries so hard, these days.

“Try one, to start?” Bucky finally says.

“OK,” Steve agrees. He sounds pleased to be given that permission, even though it’s not precisely what he had asked for. 

Slowly, he puts one hand on Bucky’s back. Bucky takes a deep breath and… doesn’t feel smothered or like he needs to escape. He makes a pleased little noise and smiles to himself.

“OK?”

“So far, so good,” he replies.

Steve chuckles. He starts moving his hand, up and down Bucky’s back, slow and soothing. 

He thinks maybe he used to do this for Steve sometimes, when he was sick, after his Ma had died. It’s comforting. He thinks someone had done it for him, too. Maybe it was Steve, but he thinks there were others, too.

His family. 

He has some memories of them, his parents and sisters, but not so many as he’d like. More he has the shapes of them in his life, the way they’d fit, and the love they’d shared. He’s glad he has that, at least. If the rest never comes back, at least he has that.

Steve’s touch is soothing and so comforting.

It drives almost everything else from Bucky’s head, and he’s able to just drift, enjoying the feel of Steve’s hand drifting up and down his back, the low and soothing tones of the ostensibly educational program on the tv, and the warmth of blankets and another body close to his own. 

“Should I try the other?” Steve asks, after a while. His voice is also low and soothing, and Bucky realizes he’s probably dozing.

He rouses enough to say, “Yeah, give it a whirl.”

Or at least, he thinks he says that. He might not be saying anything all, or maybe it just comes out as a vaguely affirmative garble of gibberish. Either way, he seems to have at least gotten the consent across, because Steve puts his other hand on the other side of Bucky’s back, leaving it in one spot while the other keeps up its ceaseless stroking up and down his back.

“Good?” Steve asks, after a few minutes.

“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky says (gibbers, maybe). He nods as well, just to be sure his point is made clear.

“Good,” Steve says. “Good.”

Bucky drifts for a while, calm and soothed and comfortable and warm. He probably dozes off, because when he becomes aware again, there’s an entirely different show on the television, and Steve’s hands have stopped moving. 

He’s still holding on to Bucky, loose but secure. He doesn’t squeeze, but it still has the opposite effect to what Bucky had expected. He doesn’t feel trapped, closed in. He feels safe. 

He feels loved.

Bucky takes a few moments to blink and blink and blink and eventually he can see clearly again. The blanket under his face might be a little wet, though.

He squints over towards the tv for a few minutes, but nothing resolves itself into a magical clock to tell him what time it is. The room is dark except for the flickering light of the tv. It could be minutes or hours or days later and he has no way to tell.

Steve shifts, and his hand starts moving again.

“Did I fall asleep,” Bucky says. He’d meant for it to come out as a question, but his voice hadn’t cooperated.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “It’s only been about an hour. Did you sleep OK?”

Bucky lifts his head so he can rest his chin on Steve’s chest, looking up at him. Mostly looking at his chin. “Yeah, it was nice. You’re more comfortable than you used to be.”

Steve chuckles. “I’m not all skin and bones anymore.”

After a moment, Bucky says, “I miss that skin and bones kid.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah. Me too.”

Bucky lifts his hand and pokes Steve in the spot nearest his fingers, which turns out to basically be his shoulder. Steve contorts for a moment to look at him.

“I like you now too, you know.”

Steve blinks and looks away. “I like you now too, Buck.”

Bucky puts his head down again, listening to Steve’s heartbeat. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Steve murmurs.

\----

The end of his nap on Steve has broken the moment, though, and Bucky starts to get antsy very quickly, and he doesn’t want to try to push himself too hard, so he lifts himself off of Steve, pats him on the chest, and gets up.

Steve pouts for a moment, which is gratifying in the extreme, but he sits up too. He looks expectantly at Bucky.

“I think,” Bucky says, “I need to go to bed.”

Steve’s face falls. “Was it-- Is everything OK?”

Bucky considers for a minute before he answers. “Yes. I am just at a point where it might be too much soon. I need to. Decompress.”

Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out. He’s clearly relieved that Bucky isn’t angry or freaking out. 

“I didn’t. Do anything wrong?” Steve asks.

Bucky can tell he needs reassurance. He wishes he could offer more than just a few words, but he doesn’t have that in him right now. He’s getting antsy to get away to his own room and rest, and think.

“You did everything fine, Stevie,” he says. “Can we talk about it tomorrow, though?”

Steve seems to get his urgency at this point, because he looks remorseful. “Yeah. Yeah of course Buck. Go on, sorry.”

Bucky knows there’s more to be said, but he can’t, not right now. He flees to his room, shutting the door as softly as he can manage behind himself, and leaning against it. He takes a few deep breaths and looks around the room, taking in his things, his safe space.

He feels vaguely hungover with affection, and he strips down and crawls into bed, grateful for the pile of blankets he can pull over his head, for the comfort of his bed.

He’s grateful for Steve too, and for the fact that Steve doesn’t try to follow him or pressure him for more right now, not even for more conversation.

He’ll need to come up with a better way to disconnect from Steve in situations like this, instead of just jumping up and abandoning him.

Bucky falls asleep worrying about it.

\----

He wakes up early, with the worries still swirling in his head. Bucky knows almost immediately that he’s not going to be able to get back to sleep, at least not before he talks to Steve, so he gets up. 

He dresses in extra layers, because it feels like safety to do so, and shuffles his way downstairs to start the coffee brewing and look for something for breakfast.

Steve shuffles in only a moment later, and drops into his chair at the table with only a mumbled, “‘Morning.” Clearly he’d been awake already and listening for Bucky to start moving around the house.

Silence descends, but despite Bucky’s worries, it’s not uncomfortable. Steve folds his arms on the table and puts his head down, watching Bucky putter around putting things together. Bucky doesn’t mind being watched, and he uses the time it takes him to prepare food for both of them to gather his thoughts, decide what he wants to say.

It’s hard, because he doesn’t really want to say anything. He just wants Steve to _understand_ , without him having to say anything.

But things don’t work that way, unfortunately.

So he has to talk. Ugh.

He puts food in front of Steve, and sits down across from him. 

Bucky uses the ostensible need to concentrate on cutting up his food to disguise that he doesn’t want to make eye contact while he says this. “Stevie, you didn’t do anything wrong yesterday.”

He can feel Steve’s eyes on him. “OK,” Steve says.

“I’m sorry that I ran away at the end of the day, that wasn’t fair to you. I was at a point where I couldn’t really.” He stops for a moment to consider. 

Steve waits. He takes a bite of his food. Bucky chances a glance at him, and Steve looks utterly open and vulnerable before him. He could destroy Steve with this, if he was of a mind to do so.

“It was very nice to snuggle or whatever but it still gets to be too much for me after a while, and I didn’t realize how close I was getting to that point until the end, and I didn’t have anything left to explain that to you last night. I’m sorry.”

Bucky shoves a couple of huge bites of food into his mouth and finally looks at Steve, really looks at him. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Steve says after a few moments and a few more bites of food. “And I appreciate you apologizing but I don’t think it’s necessary. So thank you for that, too. You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Buck. I’m just happy for… whatever.”

“About that,” Bucky says, because in for a penny. “It’s still OK? That I’m--”

“Touching me more?” Steve sounds wry. “No, it’s awful please stop.”

Bucky blinks for a moment, and then flips Steve off. “Asshole.”

Steve grins and shoves a huge bite of his food in his mouth. Bucky makes a face at him.

“Anyway,” get goes on, pointed. “You could maybe try to reciprocate more?”

Steve’s face lights up. “Yeah? OK!”

Bucky can’t help but smile back at him. “Maybe don’t come up behind me though? Unless you want to get stabbed.”

Steve makes a disappointed face, the one that Bucky thinks of as his ‘Steve Rogers is far more disappointed in you than Captain America could ever be’ face, because he knows he’s been getting that look from little Stevie Rogers since he was about six years old. “Buck I thought you stopped carrying knives in the house.”

Bucky snorts. “Sure I did, Stevie.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue because he knows the futility of it.. “OK fine, no coming up behind you and getting grabby. Got it.”

Bucky shrugs and offers up, “If you’re lucky I’d realize it’s you and only punch you.”

Steve scowls. “That’s not helpful, Buck.”

Bucky shrugs again. He’s not in any hurry to go about unarmed, even if he technically doesn’t really need more than the arm itself. He feels safer with at least two knives on him, though. So he doesn’t fight that, because feeling safe is a nice feeling. 

He also doesn’t mention the various bits of weaponry he has strategically hidden throughout the house. Steve probably knows about all that anyway. The only room without anything in it is Steve’s, and that’s just because he hasn’t spent enough time in there to decide what would be best and where to put it.

Maybe that will change, at some point.

“I’m going to go for a walk,” he says, changing the subject. “Today. Somewhere.”

Steve smiles at him again, letting the weaponry issue lie for now. Bucky knows that he’ll bring it up again at some point, because he’s Steve and he wants Bucky to feel safe enough to not carry knives all the time even at home, but he’ll let it go for now.

That’s enough for Bucky.

“Would you like some company?” Steve asks. He sounds so hopeful, like there’s any chance Bucky might turn him down.

“Yes.”

“When do you want to go?” 

Bucky thinks about it for a few minutes, finishing his food. Steve does the same, letting him think it through and make his decision. “I guess pretty soon?”

“OK! I’ll go get dressed!” Steve is up and gone from the room before Bucky can open his mouth to say anything.

“OK,” he says to himself.

He finishes his food and cleans up the kitchen, then goes upstairs to get ready to leave the house. 

Steve bounces past him on the stairs, in track pants and sneakers and a hoodie. He’s so excited he’s practically vibrating with it.

“Hurry up,” Steve calls. “Daylight’s wasting!”

“It’s just a walk, Rogers!” Bucky calls back.

“It’s gonna be great!”

Bucky rolls his eyes to himself, amused and fond. He finishes getting dressed, which consists of adding more knives to his person in various spots and holsters, and putting on some shoes. He’s got no desire to wear anything more “dressed up” than the sweats and layers he’s already got on.

Thus armed and prepared for any eventuality, Bucky laces up his combat boots and heads back downstairs, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head to hide his face as much as possible. Not that no one will be able to guess who he might be, walking along next to Sunshine Rogers here.

Steve reaches out and slides his arm around Bucky’s shoulders when he gets to the bottom of the stairs, pulling him in for a flash-brief sideways hug and letting him go again. It’s there and gone again, and Bucky can see the way Steve is smiling to himself, proud and happy, as they head out of the house and start walking in no particular direction.

Bucky feels the warmth of it for the entirety of their walk. He’s sure it has nothing at all to do with the sun on his shoulders. Positive, in fact.

\----

They wander around the city for hours, into and out of parks, up and down street after street. Sometimes they end up in the neighborhoods they’d grown up in, and they talk about the things they remember--Steve more so than Bucky as his memories are clearer--and the ways things have changed. 

They stop at a food truck for lunch, halal food. It’s delicious. After that, they stop at a hot dog cart for a couple of hot dogs, as one meal isn’t enough for either of them.

They keep walking. Things are quiet between them as they go, just enjoying the city and each other and the meandering route they take. 

They stop again for coffee and ice cream.

Eventually they end up back home, later in the afternoon. Bucky goes straight to the kitchen to get started on dinner. He’s in the mood for pasta with sauce and garlic bread. He’ll have to finagle something for the bread but he’ll manage.

They’d eaten plenty throughout the day while they’d walked, but they’d also covered quite a distance, and they both need to eat so much even without any sort of exertion.

He makes a huge batch of spaghetti, digging sauce out of the freezer and getting that heated up to go with it, adding a jar of store bought to extend the batch. The garlic bread is a little bit slipshod, but he puts extra butter and garlic on it to make up for that.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice or care about the difference either way. He eats with easy good nature, happy as a clam with himself and with Bucky, at least as far as Bucky can tell.

“What are you doing the rest of today?” he asks as they’re cleaning up. Bucky is rinsing the dishes and handing them over to Steve to be loaded into the dishwasher.

“No plans, really,” Bucky says. He’s actually rather worn out from their day spent traversing the city, as easy as the walk had seemed at the time.

“We could watch some movies again?” Steve suggests. He glances at Bucky out of the corner of his eye, and Bucky knows what he’s really asking. 

He should encourage Steve to use his words more, actually ask for what he really wants but. In this case he knows what Steve is asking for without asking for it, and he wants it too, so he’s not going to give Steve any shit for it.

Maybe tomorrow he will.

\----

“Tap out as soon as you need to, Buck,” Steve instructs, careful as he lays one hand on Bucky’s back.

Bucky hums, and lets himself settle more heavily onto Steve. They’re trying out one less blanket between them tonight, and Steve is like a furnace beneath him, and he might fall asleep very quickly like this.

He has no idea what they’re watching, and he doesn’t really care. 

“Can I touch your hair?” Steve asks.

Bucky thinks for a minute. “Give it a shot. I think it’ll be OK.”

Steve does, slow and tentative. His fingers slide right into Bucky’s hair, and he scritches at Bucky’s scalp.

The noise that Bucky makes is frankly obscene. 

Steve’s fingers stop for a moment, and he chuckles. “Good, then?”

“Yes,” Bucky mutters.

Steve chuckles again, just a little huff of a laugh, and he goes back to scritching his fingers against Bucky’s scalp for a while.

On anyone else, the noises coming from Bucky would one hundred percent be called purring. But he’s the Winter Soldier, or some approximation thereof, so the noises are much more dignified coming from him.

He does tap out, though, earlier than he had last night. He knows he’s still OK, and it’s so tempting to stay with Steve and soak up every bit of warmth and comfort and affection he can until the very last possible second, but he doesn’t want to be forced to flee like he did last night.

“I gotta get up, Stevie,” he says, letting his regret color his words.

“OK,” Steve says. He takes his hands off of Bucky, lets him lever himself up off the couch.

Bucky wraps his blanket around himself a little more tightly and smiles at Steve. “I like the hair thing.”

Steve smiles back. “Yeah, Buck. I could tell.” 

“I’m not ready for bed yet, I don’t think,” Bucky adds. He’s not ready to leave Steve’s side yet, for all that he has to back off the touching for now.

“We can keep watching the movie if you want?”

Bucky nods. Steve sits up on the couch, shedding blankets, and Bucky sits next to him. They keep watching the movie.

\----

Bucky is surprised the next morning when Steve comes into the kitchen full dressed already. He scowls a little when Bucky looks at him questioningly. 

“Work texted early,” he says, sitting down and accepting the cup of coffee that Bucky hands him. 

He never says “Tony texted” or “The Avengers texted” or “Stark texted” or “the team texted” or anything like that. He always says “Work”. Bucky’s not exactly sure why Steve does it that way, but he goes along with it. It’s not like he doesn’t know that work for Steve is Avengering, especially now that Shield is sort of gone and Hydra is all but ashes. 

“So you have to go into the city?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

Bucky shrugs, trying to play off how disappointed he is. “Well, you’ve been home for a while, I guess it’s back to the grindstone.”

It hasn’t been long enough. He hasn’t had enough time with Steve.

Steve makes another face. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“Me too,” Bucky agrees.

Once Steve’s finished eating, Bucky walks him to the door.

“You’ll be OK today?” Steve asks him. He’s fretting. It’s endearing.

“Yeah Steve, I’ll be fine.” He’s not sure that’s entirely true.

“OK. I’ll see you tonight. I’ll text when I’m headed home.”

Bucky nods, and Steve goes.

\----

It’s the longest day Bucky’s dealt with in a while. The hours stretch out before him, vast and empty of light, of Steve. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do to fill them.

What does he usually do when Steve has to go to work? It’s not like this is an unheard of occurrence, for all that they’ve had a lovely little reprieve that they could spend wrapped up in… each other, actually. He hadn’t thought of it like that before.

Bucky sits down in the living room, pulling one of the blankets over his lap and allowing himself ten minutes to wallow in missing Steve and self-pity before he stops and takes stock.

There’s plenty to do, plenty that he’s been ignoring.

Bucky starts with cleaning the kitchen. Once that’s done, he gets started on messing it up again, planning out and starting a couple of meals for the week, as well as some dessert.

That ends up occupying the rest of the morning and the early part of the afternoon. He spends a couple hours after that cleaning the rest of the house and doing laundry. Normal stuff.

It’s just getting to be about the time he would expect Steve to let him know he’s on his way home when he gets a text from Steve letting him know there’s been an incident and they’re suiting up and heading out instead.

Bucky stands in the middle of his room staring at the coded text on his phone for a few long minutes before he says a wholehearted “Fuck.”

\----

He lets himself throw a pity party again, because he was really looking forward to Steve coming home, and now he has to wait for who knows how long before that actually happens.

What a bunch of bullshit.

After that, he gets back to acting normal.

Or at least he tells himself he’s acting normal, even though he knows he’s not.

Bucky has the cake he’d made for dessert for dinner instead, but instead of just leaving all the wonderful things he’d made out to rot, he packs everything up and puts it in the freezer.

Then he curls up on the couch with all of the blankets they’ve been using on top of him and basically dissociates for a while.

Which is objectively bad. He shouldn’t do that.

Eventually he drags himself upstairs and goes to bed. What else is there for him to do, after all?

The next day does not go well. Without Steve to help him remember to anchor himself, he sort of drifts through the day, until he finds himself standing in front of the open refrigerator trying to make himself eat something at about one a.m.

 _OK, this has got to stop_ , he thinks to himself. Or possibly says to himself. It doesn’t matter which, what matters is the sentiment.

He drinks some water and eats an apple and shuffles around the house until he finds his phone. Once he has that in hand, he goes upstairs to go back to bed, only he goes to Steve’s room instead of his own.

He considers asking Steve if he minds if Bucky sleeps in his bed while he’s gone but quickly decides a) any texts right now would distract from his mission; and b) it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.

Bucky plugs in his phone and lays down in Steve’s bed. Surrounding himself with the scent of him is like dipping himself in honey, sweet and slow and amazing. He wants to just drift on that for a while, but he has to make sure he doesn’t just stay in Steve’s bed until he gets home again.

He sets a bunch of alarms for the next day: to get up, eat regularly throughout the day, and maybe even leave the house, or at the very least to spend some time doing something fun.

Hopefully that will stick.

That task taken care of, he drops the phone on Steve’s bedside table and snuggles down into his bed to sleep. 

\----

Waking up in Steve’s bed is a marked improvement on waking up in his own bed. Somehow, even though they have the exact same mattress, Steve’s seems more comfortable.

He knows intellectually that’s not true but it still feels true.

His first alarm goes off. It’s the one telling him to get his ass in gear for the day and make some breakfast. 

He hits snooze. 

Three times.

After that, he drags himself up and goes downstairs to scare up some breakfast.

It’s going to be another long day, but hopefully the alarms will help. They had helped when he’d first come back and didn’t know how to do much of anything the way quote-unquote normal people do. Steve had helped some with that, but he wasn’t really all that much better at it than Bucky. Bucky quickly noticed that Steve is just better at pretending.

So they’ve learned together. 

Bucky finds comfort in routine, in the here and now. Especially without Steve around. So. He makes breakfast, and eats it while he reads in the kitchen. He drinks too much coffee, but he’s to be allowed his little indulgences while Steve is gone. They give him comfort.

After breakfast, he cleans up the kitchen. He gets something out of the freezer so it will be thawed enough to eat by around dinner time. He surveys the state of the pantry and starts a list of things to order from the grocery store--thank god for grocery delivery.

He wants to spend the rest of the day moping, but he has a list and alarms specifically so he won’t do that.

He does give himself a few minutes to stare at his phone and wonder when Steve’s going to check in.

The answer to that question turns to out to be “around lunchtime”. Bucky is eating standing over the sink so as to minimize the mess when his phone chirps on the table behind him. He checks it and there’s a text from Steve.

It’s short. All it says is that he’s OK and he doesn’t know when he’ll be home.

“Fuck,” Bucky says, with feeling.

He goes back to their home gym after lunch and runs a few more miles.

The next several days will pass in much the same way: alarms, routine, missing Steve, sleeping in his bed. He reads a lot, he runs a lot. He starts knitting a sweater.

\----

After the third day that Steve’s gone, Bucky starts getting updates on the whole team from Stark’s AI, which is. Odd, to say the least.

Part of him still marvels at Jarvis’s existence. He’s met the AI a few times, in his trips to Stark’s to have his arm looked at and adjusted. And he is still a little bit quietly awed at living as he does in the present, where things are so different and amazing and not at all like what anyone in the 30s could have ever imagined.

It’s pretty neat, but he tries to keep that thought to himself. He wants to tell Steve about it, but he doesn’t want anyone else to know. It’s hardest to keep quiet about it when he’s actually in the Tower, and he especially doesn’t want to tell Stark about it. He has managed to more or less convince Tony by now that he barely speaks English and is on the verge of murdering him at any given moment. 

Tony is also pretty sure he’s fucking with him, which is basically as Bucky wants it. Tony is always cautious and on the back foot with him. As he should be, no matter how grateful Bucky secretly may be that Tony keeps his arm working and keeps threatening to build him a new one. Bucky will not be surprised to show up at one of his appointments to be assaulted with major surgery and new hardware.

Bucky will no doubt freak out and bolt when it happens, but once he knows it’s coming he’ll be able to prepare, and he may even let Tony put the new arm on him. Much as he’s used to the one he’s got, it’s heavy as fuck.

He thanks Jarvis for the updates, and accepts his reassurances that Captain Rogers is intact and whole just very busy and not sure when he’ll be able to check in himself at face value. Part of him doesn’t want to, but the AI has no reason to lie.

This goes on for nearly two weeks. It’s awful.

Thankfully, the fighting is over after the first few days. The rest is just clean up, and he gets check in texts throughout from Steve and Jarvis. Jarvis is more forthcoming than Steve about the situation on the ground, a fact which does not at all shock Bucky, even if it does make him want to give Steve a good swat upside the head.

Finally, finally he gets the text that they’re headed back to New York from Steve, who isn’t even bothering to use their code anymore so he must be beyond exhausted.

Jarvis sends him an ETA shortly after that, and Bucky goes to get dressed. 

He’s out the door and on his way to the subway in ten minutes flat. He probably looks like a hobo, in slouchy sweats and running shoes, with an even slouchier sweater over his t-shirt, hair pulled back in a messy tail and sunglasses on, leather jacket and scarf over all of that, but he also might just look like a hipster, especially once he puts in his earbuds and proceeds to make it look like he’s ignoring his surroundings. He fades right into the crowd, which is the only way to travel. It grants him anonymity without impeding his ability to observe and be vigilant.

The subway is the subway but it’s not that crowded at this time of day heading into Manhattan so it’s not even particularly panic inducing. Especially considering he’s on mission, which helps force anything extraneous like anxiety out of his head.

He could’ve asked Jarvis to send a car for him, like he does for his arm appointments, but he hadn’t even thought of it. He doesn’t want to wait; he needs to be there when Steve gets back.

It’s not until he’s approaching the Tower that he realizes he has no idea where to go once he gets inside.

Thankfully, Jarvis has anticipated his needs and texts him that he can bypass security and go straight to the east elevator bank, where the private elevator to the living quarters levels will be waiting for him.

When he gets into the elevator, Jarvis says, “Good afternoon Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky doesn’t particularly like most people calling him that, but somehow from Jarvis he doesn’t really mind it. “Hi, Jarvis. Are they back yet?”

“Not yet, sir. I have their ETA at twenty minutes from now. I’m taking you to Captain Rogers floor.”

“Does he know I’m here?”

“He does not, but the Captain usually showers on his floor post-mission before heading to debrief or back to Brooklyn.”

“OK. Don’t tell him?”

“As you wish, sir.”

The elevator opens on Steve’s floor moments later, and Bucky gets out. He’s been here before but he doesn’t really remember it because Steve had abandoned his apartment in the tower almost as soon as Bucky had shown up. That and he’d more or less been out of his mind crazy at the time, what with the last vestiges of brainwashing and conditioning and his returning memories. It hadn’t been a great time.

Bucky’s pretty sure Steve used him as an excuse to leave, because the apartment is sterile and lifeless even though Steve apparently lived there for a while. He doesn’t like it. It makes him vaguely sad, thinking about Steve existing here. 

He wanders through the apartment for a bit, acclimating himself. Every room feels a little bit lonelier than the last. Bucky shivers, determined to get Steve out of here and back home as soon as possible. If he can head off the debriefing, they can sneak out and Steve can come back later for it.

Or never, but that’s not really his choice.

He scouts the kitchen and finds not much there beyond a stale box of cereal, and regrets all of his life choices that led to him not thinking to get food out of the freezer before leaving the house.

Delivery it is. 

He spends a few minutes choosing a couple of options to present to Steve, although if Steve’s as exhausted as Bucky expects him to be he won’t care, so he also decides which one he’d go with (his heart says sushi but his mind tells him they both need more food than that right now and that burgers are a better choice). 

Bucky is in the living room staring out at the city as night falls when Jarvis announces that Steve is in the elevator. He’s not surprised, he’d watched the quinjet approach from the north and had timed how long it would take for the team to disembark and head for their respective floors. He doesn’t move until he hears the elevator doors open, and then he turns around.

Steve is just outside the elevator, and he looks utterly poleaxed.

“Buck?” Like he doesn’t believe Bucky is real. Like he’s going to fall apart.

Bucky crosses the room and puts both his hands on Steve’s face, gentle, looking him over. Brushes his thumbs across Steve’s cheeks. Steve makes a tiny noise, pained. There are shadows under his eyes that Bucky could easily hide in. 

“You’re here,” Steve whispers; it comes out broken and disbelieving.

Steve is still in the uniform, the shield on his back. He hasn’t even taken off his gloves yet.

He’s also disheveled like he’d dozed off on the quinjet, his hair is greasy like he hasn’t had time for a real shower in days, and he’s slouching like he can’t force his body to stay properly upright any longer. 

He also kind of smells. Which is not surprising.

Bucky doesn’t let go of him for a long minute, and Steve lets himself be held, his breath hitching, pressing his face into Bucky’s hands.

“You got time for a shower before we get outta here?” Bucky asks.

Steve looks at him and nods. “I can be quick.”

“They want you to debrief tonight?”

Steve nods.

“Fuck that, we’re going home.”

Steve nods again.

“Go shower, Stevie.”

Steve nods again, and goes.

Bucky waits for him to shower, trying to decide if he should ask Jarvis to get them a car, which would almost immediately alert the rest of the team, or steal one of the undoubted myriad cars that Tony has on hand for anyone to take whenever they need it. Or maybe Steve’s bike is here, in which case he can drive both of them home. He doesn’t remember now if Steve had taken the bike two weeks ago when he’d left for what was supposed to be a day at the office.

He’s not sure Steve is up to driving all that way.

Or there’s the subway again, but Steve is pretty conspicuous with the shield. If he brings it. He often leaves it here. He says he doesn’t really want it in the house, but Bucky is pretty sure he does that for Bucky’s sake.

Which is nice, if a bit misguided on Steve’s part. He understands why Steve leaves it, but he doesn’t mind it, even if it is a huge frisbee.

He remembers practicing with it with Steve, during the war. He’d gotten pretty good with it himself, actually. Not as good as Steve, but not as bad as some of the other Howlies (especially Dum Dum. He’d been terrible with it).

But there’s no time for reminiscing right now. Steve comes out of the bedroom a few moments later freshly showered and looking like he already feels much better. His back is a little straighter.

Bucky crosses the room to him and says “Is this OK?” as he’s sliding his arms around Steve and pulling him close, holding him tight. Steve makes a pained noise that is maybe supposed to mean yes and sags against him, puttings his arms around Bucky and holding him just as tight.

They stand like that for a few minutes. Bucky is the one to take a deep, shaky breath and step back, reluctant to let go of Steve even though they really need to get a move on before someone realizes that Steve isn’t coming to the debrief.

“You bringing the uniform home?” Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs, clearly not quite up to decision making at this point. 

“Get a bag for it. You have the cover for the frisbee?”

Steve nods and disappears again. He comes back with the shield slung over his shoulders and a backpack in hand, bulging with the uniform.

Bucky holds his hand out, and Steve hands him the backpack. They head for the elevator. Steve doesn’t ask any questions.

This is how Bucky knows how truly exhausted he is.

The first thing he sees when they get to the Avengers only garage level is Steve’s bike. 

He holds his hand out again and says, “Keys.”

This will go much more smoothly if he just takes charge. Which doesn’t come as naturally to him as it maybe used to, but as long as he thinks of it as doing what needs to be done to take care of Steve, it doesn’t trip up his brain much at all.

He can relax and let Steve take care of him in a few days. For now it’s Steve’s turn.

Well, more Steve’s turn than usual.

Bucky stows the uniform in the saddlebags and gets on the bike. Steve just stares at him for a moment, eyes blown wide and dark and. _That’s_ interesting.

But it’ll have to wait. Bucky may have been thinking some thoughts about some things while he spent the last two weeks sleeping in Steve’s bed and missing him like he’d lost another limb but he knows he’s not there yet.

Or well, not all the way there.

Because in many ways they are already quite involved with each other. Maybe they always have been.

He doesn’t know, doesn’t remember.

But that’s a conversation to have once Steve isn’t little more than a sorta mobile zombie.

“Get on,” he instructs, gentle but firm. “You gonna be able to hang on long enough to get home?”

Steve opens his mouth to answer and his throat clicks. He swallows, and nods, and tries again. “Yeah, Buck. I’m good. You OK with me holding on?”

Bucky smirks. “Yeah.”

Steve takes another deep breath and climbs on the bike behind him, settling in intimately close and slinging his arms around Bucky’s waist. He drops his forehead against the back of Bucky’s neck and sighs.

Bucky shivers. 

He has one last thing to do before they head out. Bucky pulls his phone out of his pocket and places an order with the burger place Steve likes for a truly ridiculous amount of food. He pauses to glance at traffic and then schedules the delivery for a little further out than it would arrive if he let them deliver as soon as it’s available, and submits the order.

If they show up when he wants them to, they’re getting a huge tip.

“OK, hang on,” he says, starting the bike. Steve’s grip on him tightens, sending butterflies fluttering through Bucky’s stomach, and he takes off.

—

Traffic eases up as much as it ever does, once they cross the bridge into Brooklyn, and Bucky knows all the little shortcuts that shave a few more minutes off their time on the bike.

Much as he wants to stay like this forever, with Steve tucked against his back, arms tight around his waist, he needs to get Steve home and fed and into bed.

At some point he should probably tell Steve he’s been sleeping in his bed, too. Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe if he decides to try sleeping in Steve’s bed with Steve tonight. He’s not sure he’s up to that, though. The affection they’ve been sharing between them is amazing but he still has limits that crop up at weird times.

It’s dark out by the time they get home, and Steve is fading fast. Bucky knows he needs to get some food in him before he passes out, though. 

“You gotta stay awake a little longer for me, Stevie,” he says as he drapes Steve’s arm across his shoulders to half-carry him into the house. 

Once inside, he takes the shield off Steve’s shoulders and drops it in the entryway. The bag of clothes gets dumped next to it, and he leads Steve straight to the kitchen and dumps him in a chair.

“Try to stay awake, food should be here in a—“

There’s a knock on the door.

“Thank god.” Bucky goes to answer it. He fishes most of the cash he’s got out of his wallet and uses it to tip the delivery guy. “Perfect, thanks,” he says as he grabs the food and shuts the door in the guy’s face. He doesn’t have time for small talk and being anything other than vaguely rude. Hopefully the hundred and fifty percent tip makes up for it.

It smells greasy and divine. It’s perfect. Just what they both need--or at least what Steve needs.

Steve perks up a little bit at the smell of food. Thankful that he’s not so far gone into sleepyland that Bucky has to coax him to eat, or feed him, he starts unloading food in front of Steve.

Steve doesn’t wait for an invite, he just starts eating.

Bucky sits across from him and grabs some food for himself. He keeps a close eye on Steve to gauge when he starts slowing down.

Steve starts drooping into his burger about halfway through the third one, and Bucky decides that’s good enough. He’s eaten a whole mess of fries as well, anyway. 

“OK bedtime,” Bucky announces, standing up.

Steve blinks up at him blearily, and Bucky has to fight not to just grin at him like a dope.

“What about food?” Steve asks, after a moment and many slow blinks.

“You can eat more in the morning. You need sleep, sweetheart.”

“OK,” Steve agrees. It’s fairly obvious that he’s not quite processing what Bucky’s saying, but he stands up slowly, looking down at his half-finished burger. “Gotta clean my plate, Buck.”

“Nah, it’ll keep, Stevie.”

Steve frowns a little, like he thinks he maybe disagrees but can’t figure out why.

“You’re adorable when you’re stupid tired,” Bucky tells him.

Steve’s frown gets deeper. “Am not.”

Bucky laughs. “Can you handle getting upstairs and into your pajamas while I clean up?”

Steve pouts. “Yes.”

Bucky waits, but Steve doesn’t actually get moving, just stares at him blinking slowly, so he makes a shooing motion.

“Go on then, Stevie. Go get your pjs on, I’ll be up in a minute.”

This time, Steve goes, shuffling out of kitchen slowly.

Bucky shakes his head to himself and gets to work cleaning up. He’d lay pretty good odds on finding Steve sitting on his bed when he goes upstairs, pajamas nowhere in sight let alone on his body.

—

Turns out he was one hundred percent correct.

Steve is sitting on his bed staring at his feet.

His bed, which Bucky forgot to make this morning (because who cares if you made the bed when you’re just gonna climb back into it at the end of the day, STEVE?).

He wonders if Steve will even notice.

He shakes his head fondly at Steve and goes about gathering pajamas for him. When that’s done, he drops the clothes next to Steve on the bed and pulls him to his feet. 

“OK, drop trou Stevie.”

Steve makes an attempt at a leer but it just looks weird fighting the exhausting on his face. Bucky laughs at him and drops to his knees to get Steve’s shoes. Steve collapses back on the bed.

Bucky gets his shoes and pants off and hands him the flannel pajama bottoms he’d found. “I’m gonna let you put your own pants on, sweetheart.”

“You sure do know how to treat a fella right, Buck,” Steve slurs. He’s basically drunk with exhaustion at this point, and Bucky plans on never letting him live this down.

That’s what he gets for abandoning Bucky at home for two weeks for work, of all the goddamn things.

It takes far longer than it should for Steve to manage to get his legs into the pants and the pants up to his waist. He sits up and holds out his arms. “Happy, Buck?”

Bucky pats his cheek. “Ecstatic, dollface.” He shoves at Steve and pulls his sweatshirt over his head; Steve squawks the whole time. Bucky shoves the t-shirt he’d gotten out in Steve’s face, and Steve scowls at him while he puts it on, even when it’s covering his face Bucky’s sure.

“Are you done?” Steve asks, slumping. The manhandling has woken him up a little. Or at least enough to be vaguely affronted at such rough treatment.

“Yeah, c’mon lay down.” Bucky makes another gesture, and Steve obeys.

He lays down and Bucky starts pulling the blankets over him, tucking him in like he used to back when they lived together before and Steve was sick all the time.

“Smells like you,” Steve mumbles, turning his face into his pillow and inhaling deeply.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky says. “That’s because I’ve been sleeping in your bed for almost two weeks.”

Steve blinks at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

Steve reaches out and grabs Bucky’s arm, slides his fingers over Bucky’s skin and tangles their fingers together. “Missed you.”

Bucky leans over and brushes his metal fingers across Steve’s forehead. It’s an unconscious movement, something he always used to do when Steve was sick. “Missed you too, pal.”

Steve snuggles into the bed, smiling and mostly asleep. “Stay?”

“Steve,” he says, a little bit admonishing.

“Only if you want,” Steve goes on, like Bucky hadn’t said anything. “Stay ‘til I’m asleep at least.”

Bucky sighs. He doesn’t want to sleep in his own bed, it’s true. But he’s also not sure he’ll be able to stay all night, not in such close proximity, not for so long.

“I don’t know if I can stay, Stevie.”

Steve nods, his eyes falling shut. His grip on Bucky’s fingers goes slack as he slides into sleep. “Try?” he mumbles.

Bucky sighs, and nods to himself. “You’re the worst, sweetheart.”

Steve smiles and sighs, snuggling under his blankets. Which apparently smell like Bucky. A thing that Steve had noticed.

Bucky lets go of him slowly, and gets up to go to his own room. Which he hasn’t slept in for almost two weeks. He’s utterly doomed, and he knows it. But then, he supposes that somewhere underneath it all, this is what he’s wanted. 

Steve is what he’s wanted.

Forever.

Maybe they really were always heading here. Maybe this is why he’d wanted so desperately to make sure Steve wouldn’t spend his whole life touch-starved and brittle with it. Maybe so Bucky himself wouldn’t spend the rest of his life that way, too.

He’s always been selfish, when it comes to Steve. 

Bucky goes to his room and sheds his clothes, his shoes. He doesn’t bother with pajama pants, Steve sleeps hot and even if he doesn't end up with two hundred plus pounds of super-soldier draped over him in his sleep, he still sleeps hot as the sun. Bucky will be lucky if he doesn’t drown in his own sweat, sharing a bed with Steve.

It’s gonna be great.

He goes back to Steve’s room and rifles around in Steve’s drawers until he finds another t-shirt. A normal sized t-shirt, that normal people can also wear. He pulls that on, and he goes to the side of the bed not occupied by Steve and pulls back the covers. Steve doesn’t move. He might be drooling on his pillow, Bucky doesn’t examine it close enough to be sure.

Either way he’s gonna give Steve shit for that in the morning. 

Bucky sits down in bed and looks at Steve. He looks young in his sleep, those crazy lashes of his brushing against his cheeks. The shadows are already starting to fade, which is patently unfair. Bucky’s pretty sure the shadows under his own eyes are permanent at this point, no matter how much sleep he gets. 

He leans over and brushes his lips across Steve’s forehead, looks down at him for a moment. Steve smiles in his sleep and makes a pleased little noise before settling again. 

Bucky lays down and pulls the covers over himself. He wonders if he’ll fall asleep at all.

\----

He wakes up with Steve’s face smashed into his armpit. He is all but covered in Steve, in fact. His arm is draped across Bucky’s torso, holding him close, and one leg is thrown over both of Bucky’s. Bucky can feel the warm gusts of his breath across his skin.

It feels wonderful, so much bare skin pressed against his own, warm and safe and soft. He shifts a bit, and Steve snuggles closer, making displeased noises that Bucky had moved--he assumes--before he settles again. 

Bucky’s going to have a helluva time getting out from under him unless he waits for Steve to wake up, or wakes him up himself.

But there’s no rush. He doesn’t feel trapped, he feels nothing but pleased to be in bed with Steve, to be smothered in Steve.

 _This_ , he thinks. _This could work._

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/BelovedMuerto), or [dreamwidth](https://belovedmuerto.dreamwidth.org), or [tumblr](http://www.belovedmuerto.tumblr.com) i guess.


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